


A Mating of Souls

by Katalyna_Rose



Series: Vhenan AU [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Also a rarepair, Because I mean really, But it's a surprise!, But there's also angst, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Dragon Age is Dark, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I honestly don't freaking know, I need smut in my life, It's a chapter 4 surprise, Maybe a Little Less Fluff, Minor Adoribull, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Probably smut too, Shhh!, So there's fluff, Soul Mate AU, Therefore so are any fanfics that even slightly follow the canon, This is weird even by my standards, because duh, because i am weak, let's face it, this is me we're talking about
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8516575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katalyna_Rose/pseuds/Katalyna_Rose
Summary: The people of Thedas bear on their bodies the mark of the first touch their Soul Mate will ever bestow on them. Everyone must simply wait until the marks fade under the touch of the one they are meant to be with.Lyna's Soul Mark had never made sense to her, though.   In the palm of her left hand was a jagged pattern, like a bolt of lightning. It was darker than the rest of the mark, which didn’t make sense. There were very light, barely-there splotches here and there on her palm and fingers and forearm. Then, across the back of her wrist and hand, was the distinct shape of someone’s right hand. One day, her Soul Mate would grab her hand and angle her wrist. That was the only part of her mark that made any sense at all. Even the color of it was unique.  The fingers that would eventually grip her hand were long and slender. She wondered for what must have been the millionth time if they belonged to a man or a woman. She couldn’t tell, just from their shape. It didn’t particularly matter to her, either way. A Soul Mate was chosen not for their sex, but for their soul.





	1. To Meet a Matching Soul

Lyna gazed down at her left hand again, tracing the odd green-blue marks with her fingers. The marks didn’t make much sense, they never had. She wanted to understand, but only time could ever tell her what they were.

The first place a person’s Soul Mate would ever touch them was marked on their skin from birth. Lyna knew this. Once the contact had been made, the mark faded as if it had never been. Her mother had been born with gentle finger marks on her shoulder. Her father had a band around his wrist. Lyna had been told the story many times as a child. In passing, Fen’an had touched Ashavise’s shoulder to guide her out of his way. As he hurried past, she recognized the tingle of her Soul Mark fading away and the place he’d touched her and reached for him. Her hand wrapped around his wrist to hold him, talk to him, and he’d recognized her touch as well.

Their marks were easily identified. In fact, she’d never seen anyone with marks that made as little sense as her own. One of her friends had a hand print on her cheek. Another had a blur on his elbow where his Soul Mate would one day brush by him. Lyna had nothing so easy.

In the palm of her left hand was a jagged pattern, like a bolt of lightning. It was darker than the rest of the mark, which didn’t make sense. There were very light, barely-there splotches here and there on her palm and fingers and forearm. Then, across the back of her wrist and hand, was the distinct shape of someone’s right hand. One day, her Soul Mate would grab her hand and angle her wrist. That was the only part of her mark that made any sense at all. Even the color of it was unique.

The fingers that would eventually grip her hand were long and slender. She wondered for what must have been the millionth time if they belonged to a man or a woman. She couldn’t tell, just from their shape. It didn’t particularly matter to her, either way. A Soul Mate was chosen not for their sex, but for their soul.

“Lyna!” came a cry, a high voice trembling with laughter. “Are you brooding over your Soul Mark again? Come on, it’s time to hunt!”

“You only make fun of me because your Soul Mark is across your face,” Lyna said, grimacing at her friend as she rose and strapped her bow to her back. “What if the first thing your Soul Mate does is slap you? What if it isn’t a tender touch at all?” The other elf grinned.

“Well, then I hope I deserve it!” she said, and laughed again. “Come on, it’s your final hunt before you get your Vallaslin. Let’s go!”

 

* * *

 

Lyna strapped her bow across her back when it became clear that the demons that had poured through the tear in the Veil before her were all dead. She eyed the soldiers, all wearing a distinct but unfamiliar uniform, who were panting and trying to catch their breath. Among them, oddly, was a dwarf wearing bright colors, his shirt open to reveal copious amounts of chest hair.

“Quickly, before more come through!” a voice cried from her left. The elven mage, who she had barely spared a glance before, gripped her left hand tightly and thrust it toward the rift. His magic sparked in her hand and the mark of strange magic in her palm shot energy at the rift, and it closed with a snap and a shock wave below the range of hearing.

“What did you do?” Lyna asked, startled and almost frightened. She stared down at her hand. She wasn’t looking at the mark of unfamiliar magic in her palm where the dark, jagged part of her Soul Mark once was. She was looking at the back of her hand, where a slight tingling sensation was all that remained of her Soul Mark. The blue-green of the mark she’d been born with was gone. It was him, this strange elven mage. He was her Soul Mate.

“I did nothing,” he said, smiling modestly. “The credit is yours.” She raised her gaze to his face and studied it as the conversation continued around them. She didn’t even hear the words of the Seeker or the strange dwarf. She was trying to memorize his face.

He was bald, but seemed no more than ten years older than she was. He had a strong, straight jaw that angled into a long, pointed chin with a little dimple in it. His nose was straight and aristocratic, his lips full and pink. His eyes were the blue-grey of a brewing storm, and the corners turned down as if under a heavy weight. His ears were longer than hers and so sharply pointed she might cut herself if she touched them. His posture was straight-backed but still modest and unassuming. He was undeniably very attractive. He smiled, relieved, as he answered the Seeker’s questions.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” he said, and her mind latched onto his words, falling back into the conversation at last. “I am pleased to see you still live.” She frowned, not understanding.

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,’” the dwarf clarified, sauntering up. Her lips parted. That was why her Soul Mark had made no sense! He’d touched her while she was unconscious! The touches hadn’t quite counted, not entirely, but still whatever caused a Soul Mark had branded them in her skin. She finally understood what she’d spent all her life wondering!

The silence around her finally registered in her shock-numbed senses. Solas frowned at her, seeming concerned. The others were waiting for her to say something, at last realizing that something had happened.

“Solas,” she whispered, tasting the name. His frown deepened. She stepped closer to him, and he withdrew just slightly. She reached out and lightly gripped his arm with her marked hand. He jolted under her touch, his eyes widening until she thought they might burst out of his skull.

“You…” he murmured, but trailed off. Suddenly his gaze on her was intense and all-consuming. She smiled, just a little, watching thoughts race behind his previously-opaque gaze. She saw fear and hope and something intense and hot as fire that she couldn’t even begin to identify.

“My name is Lyna,” she told him softly. He took her hand, where it still rested on his arm, and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“Lyna.” He breathed her name across her skin, and she shivered. “How strange it is that we should meet now, of all times.” His eyes searched hers again, then flickered across her face. He didn’t release her hand. She smiled at him.

“I don’t know if it’s chance or fate,” she told him, “but I’ll take whatever hope I can get right now.” He smiled back at her, and the expression was less guarded than before but still subdued.

“Indeed,” he murmured, but she didn’t know if he was responding to her comment or agreeing with her.

“What in the Maker’s name is going on here?” Cassandra interjected impatiently. Solas blinked, and the spell between them was broken.

“Apologies, Seeker,” he said, turning his gaze, once again closed and guarded, to the human woman with the Nevarran accent. “Fate makes fools of us all,” he told the watching crowd, and Lyna smiled. _So he thinks it’s fate, then?_

“Wait a minute, Chuckles,” the dwarf said to Solas, a look of dawning comprehension followed by child-like glee on his strong-jawed face. “Are you, the mysterious apostate and Fade expert, and this Dalish girl, who is suspected of blowing up the Conclave and in possession of never-before-seen magic, Soul Mates?” He grinned. “You’re kidding me!”

“I am not kidding you, child of the Stone,” Solas said, quirking a brow as the dwarf devolved into laughter. The Seeker just glared at Lyna and Solas. Solas turned his gaze to her. “Seeker, if looks could kill there would be no need for a trial,” he said gently. She scowled. Without a word, she strode away from them.

“This way to the temple, then,” the dwarf said, trailing after the Seeker. “I’m Varric, by the way, since you probably didn’t hear my introduction earlier. Don’t worry; I’m not offended by it. When I met my Soul Mate, I actually passed out. You’re doing pretty good, comparatively.”

With a graceful, courteous gesture, Solas indicated that Lyna should proceed ahead of him. She did so, and he graciously helped her over a fallen tree that blocked their path. She was positively thrumming with excitement, despite the fact that she was suspected of killing hundreds of people at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and couldn’t actually remember what had happened, not to mention the Breach looming over her and the demons roaming Thedas. Solas seemed to be feeling a similar sense of anticipation. He kept touching her in small ways, a hand on her shoulder or the small of her back to guide her, his strength to support her under her elbow when she stumbled with weariness. He was incredibly attentive, and she found it sort of sweet though a bit confusing. They’d only just met, after all. Soul Mates though they were, they were also strangers, but she couldn’t say she disliked his attentions. She kept stealing glances at him, herself. Every time he caught her eyes sliding over to him, he smiled a bit and she blushed.

 _This is entirely inappropriate, given the current situation,_ Lyna reminded herself. _I have to stay focused on the Conclave’s destruction and the fact that the Chantry likely wants me to be put to death. I don’t know Solas. I don’t know if he would try to defend me just because we’re Soul Mates. Focus, Lyna. Remember what’s truly important right now._ Even so, she snuck another glance his way.

When asked if their small group should charge with the soldiers to make their way to the destroyed temple or take the mountain pass, Lyna discovered the first change in herself as a result of meeting her Soul Mate. Instead of deciding to charge head on into the fray and throw herself at the battle and those who would accuse her as she might have before, she chose the safer path through the mountains. She found she did it as much because she wanted to keep Solas safe as because she wanted to give herself the opportunity to live long enough to know him. She shook her head at the thought as he froze a fiery rage demon so cold that it shattered. He could clearly take care of himself.

She looked forward to what else she would learn about him in the days and months and years to come.


	2. To Speak to a Matching Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demand and my own curiosity about this concept, here's another chapter for you!

“So, they’re no longer trying to have me put to death,” Lyna said conversationally to Solas. They were sharing a glass of wine together in his cabin beside the apothecary the evening after Lyna had been officially declared the Herald of Andraste and the Inquisition was declared reborn. “That’s good, I suppose.”

Solas chuckled, sipping slowly on his wine. “I should hope that Cassandra would defend you, after what she witnessed with her own eyes at the Breach,” he mused.

“She does strike me as the sort of person who believes what she sees herself over anyone else’s testimony,” Lyna said. They fell into comfortable silence for a moment.

“We are going to the Hinterlands tomorrow, are we not?” Solas asked. Lyna hummed affirmatively.

“We need to find this Mother Giselle,” she said. “Leliana says she can help us figure out who’s behind the Chantry’s denouncement of me. Personally, I think she’s just as likely to stab me if she can get close enough.” Solas chuckled again.

“Then it is good that you will not be alone,” he said. Lyna smiled. Then she sighed and shook her head.

“If I had a couple hunters from my clan here, I wouldn’t be nearly as worried about all this,” she admitted. “I’ve been hunting with some of them since I could first wield a bow. I trust them to have my back no matter what. But these shemlen?” She shook her head again. “Just yesterday nearly all of them were prepared to execute me. Some of them spit and threw rocks at me as Cassandra escorted me through town to the rift. How could I trust them after all that?”

“I think you give their desperation too little credit,” Solas said, considering her over the lip of his glass. “Their whole world is threatened, and everything they’ve ever known is ending. You may be a Dalish elf and therefore seen as beneath them, but you are also their only hope for the restoration of the world they know. For now, I think they will attempt to be respectful and keep you safe.”

“I hope so,” Lyna said. “The quartermaster tried to press a bucket and rags on me when I went to see what requisitions I could fill before she realized who I was,” she admitted, her features twisting in a grimace. “That alone does not bode well.”

“So prove them wrong about you, and about elves in general,” Solas said. “For now, that is all that can be done.”

“Yes. At least no one’s made a pass at me, yet,” Lyna conceded. Solas stiffened in his seat across from her.

“They would-“ he began, but cut himself short. He took a deep breath and looked away, clearly trying to rein in his temper. Lyna frowned at his reaction.

“I’m elven,” she reminded him gently. “More than that, I’m Dalish. To many shems, I’m not even a person. I’m just… a warm body. A barbarian to be exterminated. A female with no rights to speak of and no standing in the courts should abuses occur. It wouldn’t be the first time some idiot tried to grab me.”

Solas met her eyes, and though she was calm, accepting the way it was for her, he was furious. Rage burned behind his eyes, the storm clouds in them darkening ominously. “I would destroy anyone who tries,” he whispered, his tone filled with venom. Startled, Lyna drew her head back sharply and gaped at him for a moment before turning her gaze away.

“No one has ever… I mean, my clan would always defend me if necessary, but no one else has ever cared…” She didn’t know what to say, how to thank him, so she stopped speaking. A few moments passed, then Solas sighed heavily and the tension in the air drained away.

“Even were you not my Soul Mate,” he told her, much calmer, “I would never allow such a thing to happen if I could prevent it.” Lyna smiled a little, still unable to meet his gaze.

“Well, aren’t you the gentleman?” she quipped, unable to deal with the situation except to make a joke. Solas chuckled a little, allowing her deflection.

“I try to be,” he said wryly. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, it’s not that!” Lyna assured him quickly. With a wry smile, she finally met his gaze. “I’m just not used to any of this, that’s all. It’s a bit overwhelming.”

“I understand,” Solas said. Somehow, she got the feeling that he truly did. “I think we’ll manage to muddle our way through, somehow.” She smiled at him.

“I hope so,” she said. “So far, I find you very interesting as a person. I look forward to traveling with you, and I hope you have enough patience to deal with nearly endless questions about the Fade and your travels.” Solas laughed at that. It was deep and full-bodied and it rumbled through the room, warming her. It was the first time she’d heard him really laugh.

“I will do my best to sate your curiosity, Herald,” Solas said, smiling.

“Ugh, please don’t call me that!” Lyna cried. “I’m not the herald of anyone! I’m just trying to keep the world from tearing itself apart.”

Amusement sparkled in his eyes. “Whatever we are to each other, you are the face of the Inquisition. I should treat you with the same deference any of the others would, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think that,” Lyna said. “If I could, I’d forbid the use of the title entirely. Since I can’t, I can at least ask that my Soul Mate uses my name.” Solas’s sly smile spread as Lyna finished the last of her wine and stood. “We should both get some rest. We’re leaving at dawn, as I understand it.” Solas stood as well and took her hand gently as she began to move away.

“Of course,” he said softly, and kissed the back of her hand. He melted her heart when he did that. He walked her to the door of his cabin and opened it for her. “Good night… Lyna.” She smiled at his smirking face.

“Sleep well, Solas,” she returned. As she walked away, she might have put a little extra sway in her hips. She couldn’t help but remember how he’d declared that she was graceful in her movements earlier. She wanted to show off, just a bit, just for him.


	3. A Soul Sundered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Hushed Whispers

Lyna rubbed her temples, wishing the headache that had been plaguing her for most of the day would subside. It didn’t seem likely. She’d been traveling through the Hinterlands with Solas, Cassandra, and Varric for nearly a month, and the region’s problems didn’t seem like they’d be going anywhere soon.

A soothing touch of cool healing magic met the back of her neck, and the pounding in her head finally eased. With a grateful sigh, Lyna looked up to see Solas’s gentle smile as he washed her pain away with his power. She smiled back as he sat beside her before their fire. He took the ladle out of her hand and stirred the pot of stew suspended on a tripod before them.

“Thanks,” she murmured. He nodded but said nothing.

“So today was fun,” Varric said sarcastically, plopping down nearby. Cassandra grunted at him. “A demon took over a pack of wolves, brothers killed each other for nothing, Templars killed a farmer because they could and stole his wedding ring, and creepy cultists are worshipping the Breach. Did I miss anything?”

“Besides the copious number of dead bodies, you mean?” Solas quipped, uncommonly bitter. Lyna laughed derisively.

“Far too many dead…” she murmured, and felt her headache stirring despite Solas’s magic. She drew her knees up to her chest and buried her face in her arms, sighing heavily. She felt Solas draw soothing circles on her back, but it didn’t help.

“That scout, Ritts, is alive thanks to us,” he said softly.

“And she’ll be a damn good spy,” Varric added.

“Those idiot cultists won’t be killed by the rift they were praying at because we closed it,” Cassandra added.

Blackwall, coming back to camp with an armload of firewood, said, “The refugees at the Crossroads are all alive and well because of you. They have food and blankets and a healer because of you.”

“Not everything is dark and hopeless,” Solas said, squeezing her shoulder gently. “You have become the light of hope for the people. While it can be a heavy burden, it also allows you to do the most good.” Lyna lifted her face and met each of their gazes one at a time. Varric was watching her with a smile. Cassandra’s gaze was intent and bordering on pitying. Blackwall looked sympathetic but hopeful.

But Solas… He looked at her with understanding. He offered neither pity nor platitudes. He seemed to understand in a way that the others didn’t. There was so much she still didn’t know about this man who would be her Soul Mate. There was so much he didn’t know about her. But that didn’t matter, not really. What mattered was that they fit. Even Lyna’s parents hadn’t been this compatible at the beginning. In fact, her city elf father had resented his fated tie to her mother for years before they both understood why they were meant for each other. But Solas… He was almost too perfect for her. He was the cool breeze to her fire, the sun to her rain, the comfort to her worries.

Once, she had been uncertain, even angry about the idea that she couldn’t choose for herself who she belonged with. She had raged against the marks on her hand, the ones that said that she belonged to someone else. She was independent above all things and the idea that she didn’t belong to herself had filled her with rage when she was younger. Now that she’d met her Soul Mate, now that her Soul Mark had been fulfilled, she didn’t feel that way. She was still herself, still belonged to herself first. Her Soul Mate wasn’t a jailor or a tether. And he didn’t want to be. When she looked at him she didn’t see limitations; she saw endless possibilities. If she told him she wanted to find a way to touch the stars, he’d build her a ladder while she climbed the tallest tree she could find. And though she’d only known him for a month, she was already starting to care for him. It wasn’t love, not yet, but it clearly could be.

“Thank you,” she told her companions. They all smiled at her.

 

* * *

 

Lyna cried out in shock and rage and agony when she and Dorian came upon Solas’s cell in the depths of Redcliffe castle. Solas jumped back a step as he caught sight of her, then rushed forward as she fumbled with the keys she’d stolen from a Venatori guard she’d killed. She almost dropped them twice as she attempted to free him.

“You’re alive? I saw you die!” Solas cried, gripping the bars that separated them. When the lock finally gave and the cell opened, Lyna threw herself into Solas’s arms. He gripped her tightly for a moment, then pushed her away. “Don’t, vhenan!” he cried, shaking. “The red lyrium. It is poison. I cannot allow it to poison you, as well!”

“Solas… Is there anything I can do?” Lyna asked, trying to still her trembling lip. He’d called her vhenan?

His smile was filled with sorrow. “I am dying,” he said matter-of-factly.

“We can stop it,” Dorian whispered as Lyna choked on a sob. “If we can get to Alexius, I can use the amulet to send us back to when we left.”

“Time travel?” Solas asked, focusing his gaze on the other mage. “I had no idea it was possible!”

“It wasn’t! Not while I was working with him, at least,” Dorian protested. “I don’t know how he’s managed it, but I should still be able to reverse it. Probably.”

“Good,” Solas said, stepping forward. He looked at Lyna again. “You _must_ return. You must stop the Elder one from killing the empress of Orlais and conquering Thedas with an army of demons!”

“Solas…” Lyna whispered, desperately wanting to reach out to him again. He smiled at her sadly.

“If you succeed and are able to return, you will also save me from this fate,” he whispered. She nodded, decided that easily.

 

* * *

 

“So you and that elven apostate,” Dorian began, catching Lyna on her way to see Solas, the last light of the setting sun reflected in his eyes. He was staring at her rather intently. She sighed. “You’re Soul Mates?”

“Yes,” Lyna said, not looking at him. She heard him sigh heavily.

“I’m so sorry for what happened,” he said softly, sincerely. “Personally, I haven’t met mine. They’re not very big in Tevinter. Breeding matters more than happiness back home.” Lyna looked up, shocked, and saw that his mouth was twisted in distaste. He clearly didn’t agree with the policy. “But I can at least guess at the sort of pain you must have felt. I’m sorry that Alexius…”

“Have you seen him?” Lyna asked. “He’s in the cells under the chantry.”

“No, I haven’t,” Dorian said. “I don’t think I can stand to see him like this, honestly. He didn’t used to be such a tool. Once, he was like a father to me. And Felix… He was always so kind. A true friend.” Lyna reached out and settled her hand on his arm, offering comfort. After a moment, Dorian shook his head sharply. “Bah! I shouldn’t trouble you with this. Go, seek comfort from your Soul Mate. Maker knows you’ve earned it.”

“You deserve comfort, too, Dorian,” Lyna told him softly. He smiled but didn’t meet her eyes. He pushed her gently toward Solas’s door.

She entered without knocking. She didn’t have the patience or frame of mind to deal with shem ideas of courtesy. Surprised, Solas looked up from his desk against the wall, putting down the papers he’d been reading. He stood, and Lyna simply wrapped herself around him. She wound her arms around his waist and held on. With a deep sigh, Solas returned her embrace.

“I was reading your report,” he whispered into her hair. “I must admit, I’m not quite certain what to make of it all. To me, you were only gone for a few moments. They were perhaps the worst moments of my entire life, thinking that you were dead. My Soul Mate, the one person I will always be able to count on… I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

Lyna took a shaking breath, comforting herself with his now-familiar scent. The musk and salt of male mixed so perfectly with the scents of parchment and ink and charcoal, his magic tingling in her sinuses. “I thought I’d lost you, too,” she whispered, and hot tears began to soak into his tunic. His arms tightened around her. “I watched you die for me, to send me back here. It was…” She stopped and shuddered hard. “I can’t even think about it, it was so awful.”

“It’s over, Lyna,” Solas reminded her. “It never came to pass.”

“It was _real_ , Solas,” she told him with conviction. “Even though it won’t happen that way now, it still happened. It was still real. And it was awful.”

Solas paused. Then, “Ir abelas,” he whispered. He pressed a kiss to her hair. “You should try to get some rest. I’ll find you in the Fade, if you like.”

Lyna tightened her grip on him. “Let me stay with you?” she asked, her voice trembling like the rest of her. “Just for tonight? I can’t stand to be alone right now…”

Solas hesitated only for a moment. “Of course,” he said, and led her over to his bed. As she fell asleep still wrapped in his warm, gentle arms, Lyna felt better than she had since before the Conclave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ir abelas: I am filled with sorrow for your loss/ I'm sorry
> 
> Okay, I have a new job. It's filling so much of my time that I've barely been able to write anything. But since these chapters are much shorter than those I post for Vhenan, I managed to write one. Hope you enjoy it! I should settle into a schedule that makes more sense than the one I worked this week in a couple more weeks, I hope. Until then, don't expect much from me. I'm tired...


	4. The Risk of a Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My rarepair is revealed this chapter... ;) I did promise in the tags, after all!

Lyna breathed a sigh of relief as they avalanche caused by the trebuchet she just fired buried a significant portion of the enemy’s troops. The Inquisition forces around her cheered, but she could not be glad that she had just killed hundreds in a single blow, even if they were attacking Haven seemingly without provocation. She was relieved to have a little time to formulate a real plan to get the people to safety; Haven would not protect them for long.

She shared a look with Solas. His smile was soft and understanding. He wasn’t cheering, either. She could see in his eyes that he knew the cost of war, knew better than to treat the enemy dead as mere numbers. She suspected, briefly, that he’d had to learn that lesson the hard way, but she shook the thought away. Surely, like her, it was simply in his nature to have empathy even for his enemies.

Suddenly, the air around them was split by an ominous, piercing shriek that Lyna knew. Looking for the source, she spotted a huge dragon heading their way. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight.

“Look out!” she screamed. She grabbed the soldier who had helped load the trebuchet and dragged the woman with her as she ran. Still she was knocked head over heels when the dragon spit a ball of fire at the trebuchet and it exploded into burning splinters.

After lying stunned on the ground for just a moment, she picked herself up. She was dizzy, disoriented, but she looked around to check on the others and saw them all stumbling to their feet. A cut above her eye poured blood into her vision, and Solas hurried over. He healed it just enough to stop the bleeding, but he didn’t have the energy to do more, not with a dragon now threatening them. She gave him a smile and collected her mercifully undamaged bow from where it had fallen.

“Everyone to the gates!” she cried, and slung the young soldier’s arm across her shoulders to help the woman along.

Cullen thought they were lost, it was clear, as he barred the gates of Haven behind them. Lyna refused to believe it. She fought her way through town and saved everyone she could find. Lysette was under siege by red Templars scaling the walls, and she fought until the Templars all lay dead before retreated to the Chantry.

Segritt was trapped under fallen roof beams in his cabin and she almost didn’t get him out before the whole building collapsed in flames. Flissa was also trapped, the tavern afire around her and Templars attacking outside. She had to flee through a hole in a burning wall to get away.

The herbalist Adan was unconscious beside a wagon of flammable oil, and Minaeve was trying in vain to drag him away before the fire reached the pots. Iron Bull dragged the man away just in time.

Threnn was foolishly engaging a group of red Templars alone near the Chantry, and Lyna threw herself into the fray to protect the quartermaster, even though the woman had tried to make her clean like a servant on several occasions.

Finally, everyone who could be saved had been, and Lyna, Solas, Iron Bull, and Varric retreated to the Chantry. Chancellor Roderick was in bad shape; Cole said he was going to die. Lyna felt a pang of regret for the man even though he’d attempted to have her tried and executed for the destruction of the Conclave and had done everything he could to hinder the Inquisition. Still, he shouldn’t have to die like this.

Cullen expected them all to die, and Lyna’s hand found Solas’s. She didn’t want to die, especially not now that she’d found her Soul Mate. He squeezed her hand, his own palm as sweaty as hers. She looked into his face and saw her own sorrow mirrored there. Even after such a short time together, they needed no words; they said goodbye in their own way, in silence.

Out of the corner of her eye, in the shadow of one of the Chantry’s pillars, Lyna spotted Cassandra kneeling to bring her face level with Varric’s. They were kissing.

“Chancellor Roderick has an idea,” Cole announced suddenly, breaking the moment. The Chancellor spoke of a hidden path into the mountains that the people could use to escape, and his newly found faith in Lyna herself.

“Get them to safety,” Lyna commanded Cullen.

“What of your own escape?” he asked her. She had no answer to give. Cullen muttered a prayer and went to his task of getting everyone out before she brought the mountain down on Haven and potentially her own head.

“I’ll come with you, Boss,” Bull said, stepping forward.

“As will I,” Cassandra announced, having rejoined the group while everyone was distracted.

Varric, standing a little closer to the Seeker than he normally would, chuckled. “Count me in,” he said with false cheer.

“I will not abandon you now,” Solas said, squeezing her hand. She looked at him and smiled sadly.

“You’re a healer,” she reminded him. “They need your skills. You’re one of three healers left.” Solas’s eyes widened in surprise and he opened his mouth to argue, but she tugged her hand out of his grasp and interrupted him. “Don’t argue with me,” she pleaded. “Go. They need you.” The conflict was clear in his eyes, but he went. Lyna breathed a sigh of relief as he disappeared. Iron Bull, Cassandra, and Varric could be trusted to run when she commanded them to leave her, but Solas could not. She wouldn’t let him die with her for nothing.

 

* * *

 

“You expect me to fight, but that’s not why I kept you talking,” she sneered at the creature that called itself Corypheus. “Enjoy your victory. Here’s your prize!” She kicked the mechanism to fire the trebuchet and heard its gears turning as it flung its payload into the mountain above them. She threw her borrowed sword in the ancient magister’s direction as she sprinted past. He yelled in anger, then fled with his dragon.

Lyna ran as fast as she could, desperate to reach the tunnels under the chantry. If she could get that far before the avalanche reached her, she might live through this.

She threw herself into the tunnel moments before falling rocks sealed it behind her. The ground shook beneath her, and something struck her head. The world went black.

 

* * *

 

When Lyna woke, she knew she was in trouble. A lifetime of experience with injuries told her that she had cracked at least two ribs, her left wrist was badly sprained, and she likely had a concussion. Even still, she fought through the pain and nausea and pulled herself to her feet. She started to make her way down the long, icy tunnel, the “Anchor,” as Corypheus had called it, sparking painfully in her palm. But she’d be damned if she’d survived all that just to die in the tunnels that led to safety and to Solas.

Her journey across the frozen mountains grew more difficult with each step, but she somehow managed to keep moving. As her thoughts narrowed and grew fuzzy and the nausea threatened to overwhelm her she was no longer sure what made her put one foot in front of the other. She was frozen to her bones, her fingers and toes completely numb, her teeth chattering incessantly. Where was she even going? She followed the distant glow of many torches in the night, never seeming to close any distance between her and it. Still she kept going. She passed a couple of cold, empty fire pits that were half-filled with snow already, and some distant, still-aware portion of her mind began to despair. She’d never find them at this rate.

“Embers?” she wondered, coming across another fire pit and squinting at it. She wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her, making her see things that weren’t real. “Recent?” She somehow managed to keep going.

“There! It’s her!” Cullen’s voice, and she thought she was dreaming.

“Thank the Maker!” That was Cassandra. Hazy figures approached her and she fell to her knees in the snow, drenched and shivering uncontrollably thought she could no long feel any portion of her body.

“Lyna!” another, far more frantic voice called. Her eyes slid closed and strong, familiar arms caught her as she fell. Somehow, she felt that through the haze of pain and cold and numbness.

“Solas,” she tried to say, but she wasn’t sure if it ever made it past her lips. Was this death?

 

* * *

 

Lyna woke in a panic, thrashing against the hands that held her. Their pressure lifted immediately and a soothing voice shushed her.

“You are safe, Lyna,” Solas told her in hushed tones. “You are safe with me.”

She slept again.

 

* * *

 

The people of the Inquisition, the survivors of Haven, sang a hymn for her. Lyna wanted to make them stop. She hadn’t died and come back. She hadn’t defeated their enemy. All she had done was leave them all homeless and lost in the mountains.

“A word,” Solas asked, and led her away from camp. He stopped beside an ancient torch, a remnant of some long gone checkpoint in the mountains. With a graceful twist of his hand, he lit it with Veil fire. Then he wrapped Lyna in his arms. He was trembling.

“I was afraid for you,” he admitted, his soft voice shaking as much as his body.

“I’m here,” she reminded him, returning his embrace. “Wherever here is,” she added wryly. He released her and cleared his throat. Then he told her that the source of Corypheus’ power was elven. And in the wake of that terrifying news, he gave her hope and perhaps even a new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS FULL OF TROPES AND CLICHES AND IS ARGUABLY THE WORST THING I'VE WRITTEN SINCE I WAS FOURTEEN. WHY DO YOU PEOPLE LIKE THIS SO MUCH??


	5. The Kiss of a Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Return to Haven

“Inquisitor,” Solas greeted, then smiled as she unconsciously mimicked Cassandra’s favorite noise.

“Ugh, didn’t we have a discussion about titles _weeks_ ago, Solas?” Lyna asked, her tone dry.

“My apologies, Inquisitor,” he said, his smile hidden from her as he faced the wall and his work on it. He wasn’t pleased. The plaster mix was off and it was drying too quickly. He’d have to chip it away and try again.

“Solas, I am seriously just a second from hitting you,” Lyna warned. He laughed and put down his pigments. The mural he was trying to begin was a lost cause anyway. He turned to her and grinned at the smile she couldn’t quite suppress.

“That would be unfortunate as it would result in my immediate and ceaseless attempt to tickle you,” he told her seriously, one brow raised. She rolled her eyes.

“The beating you’d receive as a result would be a pleasant distraction,” she said wryly, her smile widening.

“Shall we save the violence for the practice yard, Lyna? At least for today,” he suggested. She sighed dramatically.

“Oh, very well,” she said with just the right amount of pout. She was so good at playing, and Solas loved it. He grinned at her.

“Sit with me?” he suggested, gesturing to the long, wide couch that had served as his bed for the past three nights. The irony of sleeping on a couch in the castle that had once been his was not lost on him.

He sat with a foot under the opposite thigh and she settled beside him, her form curling into his body like a puzzle piece. She laid her head on his shoulder and heaved a sigh, and he wrapped his arm around her.

“Long day?” he asked softly. She just groaned. “Tell me about it.” He picked up a strand of her white-blonde hair and twirled it between his fingers. He loved her hair.

“Politics,” she said shortly. “I really don’t mind the visiting dignitaries and handling the nobles. It’s actually kind of fun. What I _do_ mind is how hard everyone, even Josephine, is trying to downplay the fact that I’m a Dalish elf. I’m their Herald of Andraste, their Inquisitor, I sealed the Breach, I’m the _only one_ who can seal the remaining rifts, of which there are _many_ , _and_ I’m the only one who can bring them together to defeat Corypheus. But Creators _forbid_ I should be an elf!” She flailed a hand out for effect and grunted, then stood to pace. Solas watched soberly; he had never seen her this upset, even after what she had seen in Redcliffe. That experience had shaken her; this was hurting her deeply. “They all claim this profound respect and gratitude for me while looking at me like chattel, wondering how much I cost. Judging from the way they sniff, they certainly don’t think I’m worth much! But people are not property! I cannot be bought! I’m supposed to be the _leader_ , damn it, and yet they all talk across me because I’m an elf!”

Solas caught her hand as she passed him again in her pacing and pulled her onto the couch beside him. She didn’t resist, but she kept her face turned away. He touched her chin and asked for her eyes, and she complied with a little sniffle. He sighed sadly when he saw the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, but he offered her a gentle smile as he wiped them away. She had come to him so vulnerable, seeking comfort, and he felt his chest swell at the thought.

“I cannot change their pettiness, Lyna,” he said softly, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “But I can promise you will never find it here.” She gave him a watery smile and leaned against his shoulder again. She took a deep breath and seemed to relax. Then she squirmed until she ended up with her head in his lap and her hands wrapped around one of his. She faced away from him.

“Tell me about the Fade,” she whispered. “Tell me about the things you’ve seen there.” Solas smiled gently and used his free hand to caress her hair. He told her stories about the Matchmaker for a small village and an ancient, forgotten king. She fell asleep in his lap as he caressed her, and he smiled down at her. She must have been exhausted.

Rather than rouse her, he leaned his head back against the couch and relaxed. Before he even realized it, he was nodding off as well, her steady breaths and the warmth of her form lulling him into sleep.

 

* * *

 

Solas felt a consciousness pressing against the edges of his dream and frowned. He’d been enjoying a pleasant memory of Arlathan, but what felt like another Dreamer was trying to invade his small slice of the Fade. He waved his dream away as he investigated, and what he found shocked him.

Lyna was lingering at the edge of where he rested, trying to get in. He didn’t know if she was doing it on purpose, but he suspected not. She was not even a mage, how could she be a Dreamer? He contemplated what to do about her presence, then wove a new dream around himself. When it was complete, he let her in and greeted her.

He guided her through a memory of Haven, and she seemed completely unaware that she was dreaming. In fact, she thought they were still talking about his studies and travels. He found it endearing that she followed him around a place that had been destroyed and saw nothing amiss, though he recognized the danger in it.

“I sat beside you while you slept, studying the anchor,” he told her, looking at the conjured shackles on the floor of what had once been her cell.

“How long could it take to look at a mark on my hand?” she asked him sarcastically. He grinned at her, loving the feeling of interacting with her like this in the Fade, where everything was sharper, clearer, more alive.

“A magical mark of unknown origin, tied to a unique breach in the Veil? Longer than you might think,” he told her. Mostly, he’d been trying to remove it from her. It had resisted all his efforts. “Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results,” he continued, and frowned at the memory.

“Cassandra’s like that with everyone,” Lyna quipped, and Solas laughed. She had a point. They wandered back up through the Chantry and out into the cold breeze as Solas described his struggles against the rifts without the Anchor to call on.

“I told myself; one more attempt to seal the rifts. I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them,” he told her, the remembered frustration welling up. “I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then…” The vision around them shifted for a moment, showing them the moment when Solas had grabbed her hand to seal the rift and completed her Soul Mark. It was immediately followed by a brief flash of the moment when she touched his arm and completed his, gone almost before it could form. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” he told her with a smile, trying to keep the excitement and shock he had felt in the moment when she first touched him in check and mostly failing. He was treading dangerous ground with her, needed to pull back. “You had sealed it with a gesture,” he said, hoping she would believe he was only talking about the rift. “And right then, I felt the whole world change.” He shouldn’t have said that.

Her face softened, violet eyes glowing as she put a hand on her hip and leaned slightly forward. “Felt the whole world change?” she repeated, her tone soft. He looked away, uncomfortable.

“A figure of speech,” he said dismissively.

“I’m aware of the metaphor,” she said drily. “I’m more interested in ‘felt.’” And damn the Fade, his emotions overwhelmed him until he spoke his mind without meaning to.

“You change… everything,” he told her honestly. Her cheeks flushed and she briefly averted her eyes.

“Sweet talker,” she accused teasingly. Uncomfortable with the intensity of their flirting, Solas took a half step back to move away, but suddenly he felt her hand on his jaw. She turned his face back to hers and pressed her lips against his. It was a shock, her lips smooth and warm and so very sweet. She pulled away quickly, her face flushed and her eyes averted in embarrassment. But he wasn’t finished kissing her yet. He grabbed her by the waist as she turned away and pulled her to him, kissing her fiercely. She gasped against his mouth, and then her hands gripped his shoulders, holding tight. He moved his lips against hers and she quickly caught the rhythm. He licked her lower lip and she opened for him eagerly, sighing as his tongue met hers. He pressed their bodies together, reveling in the way she yielded to him but still demanded much from his touch. Her hand on his jaw kept his head at the angle she wanted, and her grip on his shoulder kept him close, but she let him lean her back and slip his thigh between hers. Her body was so soft and warm that for a moment he forgot where they were and why this was wrong. He pulled away, but couldn’t resist one final kiss when he saw her that her lips were blushed and wet from his attentions.

“We shouldn’t,” he said, somewhat urgently as her hands slowly slid away, regretfully. “It isn’t right.” If he kissed her, he wanted it to be in waking, when they were both in full control of themselves; the Fade made him reckless and impulsive as he had been in his youth. “Not even here.”

“What do you mean ‘even here?’” she asked him, and he grinned at her.

“Where did you think we were?” he asked, and she looked around, finally noticing the subtle ways it was all wrong, beyond the fact that Haven was gone.

“This isn’t real,” she whispered, seeming shocked. He chuckled.

“That’s a matter of debate, probably best discussed after you _wake up_.” And with that, he pushed her from the Fade the followed her to the waking world.

 

* * *

 

Lyna woke with a gasp, raising her head from Solas’s lap.

“Sleep well?” he asked her with wry humor. She blinked at him for a moment before raising an eyebrow.

“When I asked to talk to you, I didn’t think we’d be doing it in the Fade,” she pointed out. “Or, for that matter, _doing it_ in the Fade.” He chuckled, and she cherished the sound, but he quickly sobered.

“I apologize,” he said seriously, looking away. “The kiss was impulsive and ill considered, and I should not have encouraged it.” Her other eyebrow went up.

“You say that,” she began in a laughing tone, “but you’re the one who started with tongue.” He was startled into meeting her gaze.

“I did no such thing!” he protested. She grinned.

“Oh! Does it not count if it’s only Fade-tongue?” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“It has been a long time,” he told her defensively, “and things have always been _easier_ for me in the Fade.” He paused. “That was not how I imagined we would first kiss,” he said softly. Her smile softened.

“Would you like to try again?” she asked. His eyes slid to her and then away.

“I am not certain this is the best idea,” he said, frowning slightly. She tilted her head at him.

“We are Soul Mates,” she reminded him.

“I have never been particularly comfortable with the notion,” he admitted, looking genuinely discomfited.

“Nor was I when I was younger,” she confided. “So far, I don’t think it’s so bad, though.” He gave her a small smile.

“I… would like a little time to think,” he said. “There are… considerations.” She smiled softly at him.

“Take all the time you need,” she told him sincerely. As he did not try to change her, she would not attempt to rush him. They had time, after all.

“Thank you,” he breathed, sounding genuinely relieved. “I am not often thrown by things that happen in dreams,” he admitted with a smile. “But I am reasonably certain we are awake now, and if you wish to discuss anything, I would enjoy talking.” She smiled at him.

“Tell me about the wall you were painting when I came in?” she requested.  His smile turned crooked.

“I need to chip it away once it dries and mix better plaster. It was drying too quickly,” he told her.

“But what will it be when you have the right plaster?”

“I am not certain,” he said contemplatively, eyeing the empty walls of the rotunda. Then his eyes moved back to her. “I think I will paint your deeds.”

“My deeds?” she asked, surprised. He smiled.

“You stepped out of a rift from the Fade, and survived. You were central to the forming of the Inquisition. You sealed the Breach. You approached the mages and enlisted their help, with great difficulty. You saved the Inquisition when Corypheus attacked. And I very much doubt that you are finished with these great exploits.”

“Great exploits?” she echoed, incredulous. “Now you’re making fun of me.”

“I would never,” he told her seriously. “These are all remarkable things that you have done, worthy of remembrance to say the least. Frescoes are a very sturdy form of art that weather the years well, and you provide great inspiration.”

“Do I, then?” she asked shyly, looking away. She frowned as she noticed the edge of a piece of paper beneath a pillow at the end of the couch. She leaned over and snagged it, and Solas made a noise in his throat. Her eyes widened when she saw what she held; the page was covered in a drawing of her. She was seated in a chair, her legs crossed as she leaned back, relaxed, with a mostly-empty glass of wine in her hand. She was smirking, one eyebrow raised suggestively, her hair loose around her shoulders. She smiled, realizing that this moment was the day the Inquisition was founded when they had shared a glass of wine and talked together in the evening. The paper was creased and wrinkled and a little dirty, and she guessed that he’d drawn it before Haven fell.

He snatched it out of her hand and she looked up, surprised. Not meeting her eyes, he rolled it up and set it on a small table beside him. He cleared his throat several times before speaking, his gaze still averted.

“Yes, well…” He was silent, then, failing to come up with a reasonable excuse. She chuckled and leaned over to kiss his cheek. It was warm.

“It’s a beautiful drawing, Solas,” she told him softly, sincerely. Then she stood. “I’ll stop tormenting you,” she said playfully, grinning at his flustered expression. “Get some rest. I’m going to bed.”

“Good night, Lyna,” he muttered, still flushed with embarrassment.

“Sweet dreams,” she said, grinning, and his flush darkened. She laughed lightly as she left the rotunda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trash train is boarding at the station because I am depressed tonight. Head to Fluffville with me!


	6. To Rescue a Soul

When Lyna went to the rotunda in the morning, she intended to apologize for being a bit too… forward. She found Solas seated at his desk and scowling into a cup, his lips twisted with distaste, and instead asked, “Something wrong with your tea?”

“It is tea,” his said disdainfully, looking up at her. “I detest the stuff.” She raised a brow and looked pointedly into the empty cup. He sighed and rose from his chair, pacing a short distance away from her. “But this morning, I need something to chase the dreams from my mind.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked him, concerned that perhaps he meant what happened during their nap the night before.

“An old friend has been captured by mages and wants my help to get free. I heard the cry for help as I slept,” he told her, his face clouded with concern. Her own thoughts cleared briefly with relief before she focused on the problem at hand.

“When your friend was captured, how did he… she…” Lyna began, uncertain.

“It,” Solas supplied for her.

“It?” she parroted, startled. He gave her an inscrutable look, and she had the feeling he was measuring her reactions now against the way she had thought of spirits in theory in their discussions before.

“My friend is a spirit of Wisdom,” he told her. That made sense; Solas and wisdom sounded good together.

He told her what little he knew, mostly speculations on why the mages in question would summon this particular spirit out of the Fade. Lyna was confused as well; in such a war-torn and dangerous place as the Dirthaveren, what use would Wisdom be to a handful of mages?

“Alright, Solas. We’ll find your friend,” she promised. The tense set of his shoulders relaxed at her words. “I was planning a trip to the Dales anyway. There are a lot of rifts there, likely because of Orlais’ civil war, and scout Harding reports undead. If we leave at noon, will that be suitable?”

“Yes,” he said, relief clear in his voice. “Thank you, Lyna.” She smiled at him.

“I’ll gather the others at meet you at the stables at noon,” she said, then left the rotunda.

Lyna went in search of Iron Bull first, knowing that the qunari would need as much time as she could give him to chase the grogginess (and likely a hangover, as well) from his mind. When she knocked on his door, there was only a groan in response. She shrugged and opened the door; it wasn’t like he had anything she hadn’t seen before. The sight that greeted her had her choking on laughter.

“Vishante kaffas!” came the startled curse as Dorian quickly pulled a sheet up to his chin like a modest lady. Bull cracked one eye open, his arms still wrapped tight around Dorian’s waist.

“Morning, Boss,” he greeted in a deep rumble, seeming completely unconcerned that she was bent over and bracing herself on her knees as Dorian turned bright scarlet.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Dorian squeaked at her, bounding out of bed with the blanket and leaving Bull completely naked and watching him with a smile. When the mage tripped on a rope still tied to his ankle Lyna slid to the floor with laughter, tears streaming from her eyes, and Bull chuckled with her. A steady stream of Tevine curses filled the room as Dorian struggled with the knots on his ankle. After a few minutes, Bull dragged himself out of bed and helped the poor, distressed mage.

Wiping tears from her eyes and trying to get control of herself, Lyna stood. “Get dressed, both of you,” she ordered, still struggling with her laughter. “We’re going to the Dales. Be at the stables and ready to go by noon,” she told them. Then she left, closing the door behind her, still chuckling to herself.

“Forbidden fruit,” she muttered to herself, then turned her thoughts to how to find Cole. She figured a spirit would be good company while trying to find a spirit.

“Big, strong arms, everything I shouldn’t want,” Cole’s voice said from just behind her. She jumped, startled, and turned to him. “Obnoxious and loud, brute, _Qun_ , but none of that. Caring, gentle, warm. First one to speak to me when I joined. Bought me a drink after he punched the blacksmith for spitting on me. He cares. He accepts me.”

“Good morning, Cole,” she said with a smile as his litany of Dorian’s thoughts ended. “Would you like to go to the Dales to help Solas free his friend?” The boy nodded, the broad brim of his hat obscuring his face.

“I’ll be at the stables at noon, with the others. Blackwall wants to go. He’s bored and antsy and needs to move,” Cole told her.

“Thank you for the suggestion. I’ll let him know we’re going,” she said with a smile. He was a sweet boy.

Blackwall was, as predicted, in the stables carving toys for the refugee children. Lyna smiled to see the line-up of carved rattles waiting for sealant and wax. He looked up from sanding one when she came in.

“Cole says you’re getting bored,” she said by way of greeting. His eyebrows rose and he put down his sandpaper. “We’re going to the Dales. There’s a lot to do there, lots of rifts and reports of undead. And a favor for Solas. Want to come?”

“If it means getting out and hitting things for a while, I’m in,” he said easily, brushing sawdust off his hands. Lyna smiled. “What’s this favor, though?”

“A friend of his, a spirit, has been summoned from the Fade and bound by mages,” she told him. “We don’t really know why, only that it’s in pain and we need to free it.”

“A spirit?” Blackwall repeated, shifting uncomfortably. “Like Cole?” Lyna shook her head.

“Cole is a spirit of Compassion, and he crossed the Veil on his own, willingly, and chose to stay. This is a spirit of Wisdom, and it had no desire to cross the Veil. Hopefully we can free it and send it home.” Blackwall was silent for a moment.

“Well, Solas hasn’t led us wrong yet,” he said at last. “He’s a master of diamondback and not afraid to make a man run across Skyhold wearing nothing but a bucket for his bits, but he’s a good sort. When do we leave?”

“Noon,” she told him, grateful as ever for the practical way he had of looking at the world. He nodded and grunted in response, then began to put his tools away neatly. She left him to it and headed to inform her advisors.

 

* * *

 

The Taslin Strider did not like Lyna, she discovered as it pranced under her. She scowled at it. She didn’t like it much, either, with its hard mouth and preference for munching any plant they passed rather than following the trail. It wasn’t a very reliable mount, but it was all she had. Bull rode the red hart, needing the extra height and strength of the big mount to carry him. Dorian rode the Fereldan Forder, a sweet mare who absolutely adored him. Cole had made friends with the Bog Unicorn, much to everyone’s discomfort, but it behaved well for him. The Dalish All-Bred was infatuated with Solas and practically begged for his attention; he rode her without a saddle, but used reins to keep her wandering attention focused where it should be. Blackwall was settled in the saddle of the Orlesian Courser, a proud and sturdy horse that suited him well.

Lyna would have preferred to ride the Charger, like she usually did, but it had thrown a shoe in practice the day before. Dennett wouldn’t let poor thing leave Skyhold for at least a week. For this trip, the Strider was all she had. She rolled her eyes when it pulled on the reins to munch some grass.

Solas was the last to arrive, which was unusual. Dorian had already started complaining when he showed up. He said nothing, simply pulled himself onto his Dalish All-Bred and headed out. Lyna frowned, nudging the Strider to follow, concerned for him.

They were an hour out of Skyhold before she saw Solas sigh and relax his shoulders. She sped up a little to ride beside him, and he glanced at her curiously. She gave him a small smile.

“We have a five day ride ahead of us,” she reminded him softly. “I know this is urgent, and we’ll tend to it first, but I can’t do anything about how long it will take us to travel.” He sighed heavily.

“I know that,” he told her, deep resignation in his voice. “I am worried for my friend.”

“I know. We’ll save it,” she promised. “Come on,” she said louder, so the others could hear. “Let’s trot a ways. These horses are no good if they get lazy and fat!” And with that, she kneed the Strider into a swift trot with the others following with varying degrees of irritation.

They didn’t stop until an hour after nightfall. Lyna hoped to push them all a bit and make it to the Dales and Solas’s friend a day faster than usual. The evening’s chores were done in a haze of exhaustion as a result. Cole unsaddled and brushed down the horses, whispering to them as he did. Bull collected wood for their fire and built it up. Dorian and Solas erected the tents. Blackwall helped Lyna cook their dinner, skinning the three rabbits she’d shot in the late afternoon. They were all fairly quiet, lost in thought and tired muscles.

After they ate, Solas held out his hand to her. Curious, she took it and let him lead her into one of the three tents. She smiled softly at him as they peeled off the outer layers of their clothing in preparation for sleep.

“We’ll make it in time,” she reminded him, taking in the odd despair that had settled over his face during the course of the day. He nodded silently. She frowned and approached him. She took his hands as he set down his coat. “Solas,” she said sternly, and he met her eyes for the first time since they set out. “We can do this. Your friend will be alright. Now breathe.” He took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh, then gave her a small smile.

“You are right, of course,” he told her, the tension slowly bleeding out of his posture. “Worrying like this will do no one any good, my friend least of all.” She smiled in return and nodded.

“Exactly. Now lie down,” she commanded. He obeyed with a little huff of something like laughter. She moved him bodily, much to his fascination, until he was lying on his stomach. Then she straddled his hips and dug her fingers into the knotted muscles at the small of his back. He bit out a pleasured moan, and she giggled. “Careful with that,” she told him teasingly, “or the others will think something else entirely is going on in here.”

“At least Varric isn’t here to set their imaginations running,” he quipped, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow. She giggled again, then snapped her fingers in mock disappointment.

“That’s who I should have brought!” she exclaimed with false regret. “He needs to know that I found Dorian and Bull naked in Bull’s bed this morning, and Dorian still had rope around his ankle.”

Solas chuckled and let more tension release from his muscles as she worked them over with careful, practiced pressure. “Did you really?”

“Oh, yes. I went to get Bull right after we spoke. I knew he was probably hung over and would need as much time as I could give him. I was right about that, by the way. He was definitely hung over. He was also wrapped around Dorian’s naked body. Dorian turned this lovely shade of scarlet that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.” Her voice turned contemplative. “It likely wasn’t a very healthy color, but it was quite lovely on him. And he wrapped a blanket around him up to his chin like a modest lady caught showing a little ankle.” Solas laughed outright at that, and Lyna smiled, glad to have given him a moment’s peace at the end of the day.

She finished massaging his back, the comfortable silence broken only by Solas’s occasional hums of pleasure as she found each and every knot in his muscles. When he was warm and relaxed and pliant under her hands, she rolled off of him and settled herself beside him, pulling their blankets and furs up around them both. She smiled into his watching eyes as she settled in for sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you, Harding,” Lyna said after she heard the lead scout’s report on the area. The dwarf nodded happily and wandered off with their mounts. Lyna rubbed her forehead. The area was a mess. Freemen of the Dales, insulting the founding of her people as well as terrorizing everyone and raising undead, a Dalish clan camped near the river much too close to the fighting, a startling number of rifts, and both sides of the Orlesian war who would hopefully recognize the Inquisition as the neutral force it was and not attack them.

Lyna turned to her companions. “Alright, twenty minutes,” she announced, sinking to the ground and stretching her legs. “Rest, eat, drink. Then we head north for the mouth of the river.”

An Inquisition soldier quickly brought over a pot of hot stew for them, babbling about what an honor it was to meet the Inquisitor. Lyna smiled and thanked the boy, but she wasn’t in a mood to deal with the hero worship for long. Fortunately, he left them quickly. With a heavy sigh, she ate a quick meal with the others and prepared herself for the tasks ahead.

 

* * *

 

Normally, when Lyna visited a region, she tore through it like wildfire. Instead of destroying everything in her path, she set it to rights. She would throw herself at every problem, no matter how small, and see it fixed. A single refugee in the Hinterlands, who had begged for help for his wife, had caused her to lead them fifteen miles away, prove herself to be the Herald of Andraste who could seal the rifts to a cult, report the death of a lover to a man who then joined the Inquisition, and retrieve the requested potion from the refugee’s son. Then they trekked all the way back as fast as possible and delivered it. Lyna would do anything for the people, Solas had realized then.

Their arrival in the Dales was entirely different, however. Rather than spreading through the Dales looking for trouble and making it right, Solas saw Lyna as the Dalish hunter she was for the first time. Soundless, swift, and determined, she flitted across the burned and ravaged landscape, avoiding all trouble they might have passed. The path she led them on to the place where Solas had sensed his friend being summoned was straight and clear, and she seemed to know innately when to turn and where to go. Even the Venatori that were searching some elven ruins didn’t notice when they passed.

 

* * *

 

“One of the mages,” Solas said, examining the dead body before him. “Killed by arrows, it would seem.”

“Look at the angle steep,” Bull said, approaching. “He was shot while running.”

“Then we must be close,” Lyna said. “Come on.” And they kept going. Only a few hundred feet later, they came upon a blackened circle of land with three strangely charred bodies in it. They all stopped dead at the sight.

“These aren’t mages,” Solas said, brows drawn together in confusion as he toed a blacked sword. “And these claw marks…” His face went black and his eyes wide. “No. No, no.” And with that, he took off, leaving them to follow.

They rounded a spire of rock, and Solas stopped dead in his tracks with a horrified gasp. They all froze as they saw an enormous pride demon up ahead, kneeling and docile and exhausted in the middle of a summoning circle. Lyna shook her head in horror, as if her denial of what she saw would change it.

“The mages turned your friend into a demon,” she said softly, and watched the shock and horror on Solas’s face harden into a crystalline fury.

“Yes,” he said, adjusting a glove with precise, almost delicate motions that spoke of how rattled he was.

“You said it was a spirit of Wisdom, not a fighter,” she said, trying to understand how this happened.

“A spirit becomes a demon when denied its original purpose,” he told her. She nodded, then her attention snapped to the man in mage’s robes who approached them cautiously. His eyes were trained on Solas’s staff.

“A mage!” he exclaimed gratefully. “Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted. We’ve been fighting that demon!”

“You _summoned_ that demon!” Solas snarled, rounding on the man. “Except it was a spirit of Wisdom at the time!”

“I-I-I know it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons,” the man stuttered in the face of Solas’s fury, “but after you help us, I can-“

“We’re not here to help you,” Solas spat. Lyna glared at the man.

“A word of advice?” she offered archly, then continued without waiting for a reply. “I’d hold off on explaining how demons work to my friend here. He knows more than you ever could.”

“Listen to me!” the mage insisted, and Lyna barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “I was the foremost expert in the Kirkwall Circ-“

“Shut up,” Solas snarled, and the mage fell silent, his mouth closing with a snap. “You summoned it… to protect you from the bandits!” The realization made hate blaze in his eyes.

“I… Yes,” the mage admitted.

“The summoning circle!” Solas exclaimed, turning to Lyna. “If we break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, to conflict with its nature, no demon.” Lyna turned her eyes to the spires of magic that marked the circle. She recognized their construction from her studies.

“You can’t free it!” the mage protested. “Whatever it was before, it is a monster now!”

“Inquisitor… Lyna, please!” Solas begged, pain and desperation and fury on his face. She would not betray him now.

“I’ve studied magic like this,” she said. “I should be able to disrupt the binding quickly.”

“Thank you,” Solas breathed. Just then, the demon roared, and the mage skittered away like a frightened mouse. Lyna lifted her lip in disgust.

“Bull, Blackwall, keep its attention, but don’t hurt it!” Lyna called, sprinting forward toward the nearest spire of magic. “Cole, see if you can get through to the spirit, calm it down. Solas, Dorian, let’s take out these spires. Aim for the point where the wide base starts to taper, and hit it hard, hit it sharp. It should shatter fairly quickly.” She shot the spot she indicated with an arrow and it lodged there. A second arrow, its point embedding itself in the spire just beside the first, made it crack. A spike of ice that shot past her shattered the spire and they moved on to the next one. Cole danced around with flashing daggers, trying to talk to the demon, which only roared and swiped huge claws at him. Bull and Blackwall moved on either side of it, herding it away from Lyna, Dorian, and Solas and making noise to keep its attention.

The final spire shattered with a blast, and Lyna shielded her face from the fragments. The moment it was over, she looked up to see that the giant demon had been replaced with a small, slender figure kneeling by the river. It appeared female and elven, but it was a deep green with glowing eyes, hair waving in a breeze she couldn’t feel. Solas approached and crouched before the spirit.

It smiled at him as he apologized. It told him not to be sorry, that it was just glad to be whole. The conversation, held in elvish, was a little difficult for Lyna to follow, but she caught most of it. She saw Solas’s grief and despair as it asked him to kill it.

 _“I cannot exist knowing what I have done,”_ it explained, and Solas’s jaw tightened, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

“Ma nuvenin,” he said brokenly, and the spirit smiled at him as it disappeared.

He stayed crouched where he was, and Lyna approached slowly. “I heard what it said,” she told him softly. “It was right; you did help it.” She saw him take a slow breath.

“And now, I must endure,” he lamented, standing.

“Let me know if I can help,” she told him, and he smiled, just a little. His fingertips brushed her cheek and she leaned into the touch but dared not return it though she desperately wanted to hold him tight through his grief.

“You already have,” he told her softly, sweetly. But she wanted to do more, to be with him as he mourned. She didn’t want him to have to be alone. Just as she was about to say so, he turned his attention to the approaching mages. “All that remains now is _them_ ,” he spat, the fury returning. His fists clenched at his sides, that muscle in his cheek ticked again, and his spine was so straight and taught that she worried it might snap.

“Thank you,” the mage who had addressed them before said to Lyna, seeming to try to block Solas from his notice entirely. “We would not have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected.” Lyna raised her chin to look down her nose at the man. He reminded her rather a lot of a fat rat. She didn’t answer him, let Solas do the talking as he advanced on them.

“You tortured and killed my friend,” he snarled.

The rat-like mage raised his hands before him and cowered. “We didn’t know it was just a spirit,” he said defensively. “Th-the book said it could help us!”

Fire gathered around Solas’s form, and before Lyna could so much as blink the mages were dead, charred to embers. She wondered for a moment if she should have stopped him from killing them as he stood before their corpses, his hands still clenched at his sides.

“Damn them all,” he whispered brokenly. Lyna approached slowly.

“Solas…” she began, but she didn’t know what to say.

“I need some time alone,” he announced abruptly. “I will meet you back at Skyhold.” And without a backwards glance, he walked away. Lyna watched him go, sorrow in her heart as she saw the pain he tried to keep contained.

“Boss, should we just let him wander off like that?” Bull asked, coming up behind her.

“He needs to mourn,” she said softly. “He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

“You sure about that, boss?” Bull asked. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have an answer to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't do this entire thing from memory while at work, what are you talking about? Rude... Accusations... Rude...
> 
> Look, some actual angst on my trash train! How fun... And... angsty... I'm tired, shut up.
> 
> Also, I ship Dorian and Iron Bull so hard... Heh...


	7. The Return of a Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted two chapters at once. Make sure you read the previous chapter before this one!

“Andaran atishan, da’len. I am Keeper Hawen,” the Dalish mage before her greeted. “It is good to see another of the wandering clans in this place from which we all came.” She smiled at him. It had been two days since she’d seen Solas wander off, and she was figuring out how to fake a convincing smile. It helped that she had missed her people, and Keeper Hawen reminded her of Keeper Deshanna.

“Andaran atishan, hahren,” she greeted him. “Are your people well? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Oh, da’len, where do I start?” he lamented, shaking his head. Then he eyed her up and down. She was dressed in Dalish hunter armor but it bore the crest of the Inquisition across the chest. “Are you… with the Inquisition?” he asked her curiously.

“Yes, I am. Inquisitor Lyna of clan Lavellan,” she said, introducing herself properly. Keeper Hawen’s eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing. “I’ve come to offer my assistance to your clan while I’m here.”

“Well, we’d be fools to reject,” he said at last. “Especially after you sent the Halam’ghilana to us.”

“She belonged with the People, where she would not be harmed and could lead our people as she is meant to, rather than hunted for her horns and golden pelt,” Lyna said, bowing her head slightly.

“Yes,” the keeper said gratefully. “She has already introduced herself to the other halla who guide us. Our halla keeper assures me she will be happy here.” Lyna smiled to hear the news.

The keeper detailed the worst of their problems, beginning with their shortage of supplies and his First’s foolish expedition to the Emerald Graves, and ending with his sorrow over the demons in their people’s ancient burial ground. Lyna promised that she would return with good news and led her group of friends off to the burial ground and in search of the supplies the clan needed most.

 

* * *

 

That night, Lyna, Dorian, Bull, Cole, and Blackwall were invited to stay with the clan. They had cleared the burial site and brought back as much supplies as they could. They’d brought news of the death of one of the clan’s mages and brought back the amulet he’d been searching for, a great treasure for their people. The clan wished to thank them for their help.

The hunters were called back to camp for the celebrations, and they surrounded Lyna with kinship and gratitude. Lyna had helped to supply them with meat, and it roasted slowly over the fire as musicians took up drums. The songs were ancient and resounded in her bones, and if she closed her eyes Lyna almost felt like she was back home in the Free Marches with her clan.

One of the young hunters, who had begged her to join the Inquisition and finally been allowed to by his keeper, pulled her to her feet and swept her into the dance. She laughed, following the familiar steps, spinning around her partner as he lifted her and led her through the turns. A glimpse at her companions found them smiling. Bull was grinning and whispering something in Dorian’s ear that made him turn scarlet, Blackwall was watching her with a slightly bemused expression, and Cole was flitting around the camp and whispering help into the ears of those who needed it. It was wonderful, like her past and her present had been smushed together and she could see the best parts of each.

If only Solas were there with her, the feeling of home would be complete.

The thought steadied her racing thoughts and heart, and when the dance ended she began to turn from her partner, but he held her. She looked at him curiously.

“Do you… Ah…” he began, then paused and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Would you like to spend some time together?” he asked her finally, the words tumbling from his mouth in a rush. Lyna’s eyes widened.

“Oh…” she said eloquently, then bit her lip. “I have found my Soul Mate,” she told him with an apologetic smile. He jerked in surprise and his gaze flicked to her companions.

“Surely not one of them,” he muttered, a bit dismayed. She frowned.

“No, he isn’t here tonight,” she told him, scowling. What was so wrong with her friends?

“Is he Dalish?” the hunter asked.

“He is elven,” she told him, scowling deeper. It was the truth, but not the answer to his question.

“That’s alright then,” he said, satisfied. Her scowl turned into a piercing glare.

“You are aware that the Inquisition is for all,” she said sharply. “There are many humans there, mages, Templars, dwarves, and even Tal-Vashoth. There are many elves as well, but you and I are the only Dalish who have joined. You cannot hold on to those prejudices while serving the Inquisition.” The hunter ducked his head, looking properly chagrinned.

“Of course,” he murmured. “Ir abelas.” His pronunciation was off, she knew from her studies with Solas, and she wanted to correct him out of spite, but she let it slide. His remorse was genuine, and she was appeased. She nodded to him.

“Thank you for the dance,” she said, then returned to her friends.

 

* * *

 

Solas had not retrieved his horse from the camp where they’d left their mounts before he disappeared. Lyna rode his horse, the Strider following on a lead rein. She was grateful for a better mount, but worried about Solas the whole way back. He hadn’t stopped to gather any provisions from any of the Inquisition’s camps. She was worried that he intended to simply disappear into the woods and not return.

She slept in a tent alone as they trekked back to Skyhold, and felt far lonelier that than the empty canvas should have.

 

* * *

 

The bells announced someone coming up the mountain, the tone of them meaning it was one of the Inquisitor’s inner circle, and Lyna jumped to her feet, causing Dorian to nearly fall out of his chair.

“He’s back,” she said, hesitating.

“Go on, then,” Dorian said, waving her off. She grinned at him briefly, then sprinted to the main doors of Skyhold. She threw them open, trying to order her hair and clothes as she ran down the stairs. She stopped at the top of the stairs that would take her to the level of the bridge and took three deep breaths. She had been afraid for him and missed him deeply, but she needed to be calm and collected for him; he was still hurting, she was sure.

Lyna descended the stairs to see Solas passing under the portcullis, and her eyes fixed on him. He looked a little worse for wear, his trousers ripped and dark circles under his eyes, but he was alright. He’d come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter after a longer chapter. Sorrynotsorry.
> 
> The Dales were pretty royally fucked, guys. Seriously, that region was worse off than the Hinterlands...


	8. A Soul in Pain

“Inquisitor,” Solas said softly in greeting, his sad eyes betraying his pain, something older and deeper than Lyna could understand.

“How are you, Solas?” she asked him, letting his use of her title slide. Just this once.

“It hurts,” he admitted softly. “It always does. But I will survive.”

“Thank you for coming back,” she said earnestly. She had been worried that he wouldn’t.

“You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon you now,” he told her with a soft smile. She returned it, but it was a little watery.

“Where did you go?” she asked, trying to distract herself from the insane need to throw herself into his arms.

“I found a quiet spot and went to sleep,” he said. “I visited the spot in the Fade where my friend used to live. It is empty, but there are stirrings of energy in the Void. Someday something new might grow there.”

He told her, because she asked, what happened to spirits when they died. He was so withdrawn from her that she could have wept the tears he had obviously denied himself, and she wanted even more to touch him, hold him, kiss him.

“The next time you need to mourn,” she told him impulsively, unable to deny her need to be available for him, “you don’t need to do it alone.”

The smile that lit his face was genuine and beautiful. “I had forgotten what it is not to be alone. For so long, I…”

“I know,” Lyna said, saving him from having to finish the thought. He smiled a little wider.

“I’ll try,” he promised, ducking his head slightly. “And thank you.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” she said flippantly in a poor attempt at levity, but his smile was amused anyway. She waited for a moment, but he didn’t seem inclined to say anything more. She tossed her hair and took a deep breath. “Well, Varric and Bull both owe me a drink now that you’re back. I think I might go collect. I believe Josephine now owes Leliana three sovereigns, as well.” Shock cleared his face of tender amusement, and Lyna regretted her seemingly callous words.

“You were all betting on me?” he asked. Lyna shrugged, chagrined.

“They were betting. I told them it was silly and you would be back,” she told him shyly. “Varric and Bull both bet a drink on that and I didn’t bother to refuse. I’m fairly certain I’m not supposed to know about the bet between Josie and Leliana.” To her surprise, he chuckled.

“They would,” he murmured, but she wasn’t sure who he was talking about. There was another moment of awkward silence as she waited for him to say anything more, but he didn’t so she turned to leave.

“Inquisitor,” he called softly, abruptly. She cringed.

“Solas, please don’t call me that,” she requested, not looking at him.

“Lyna,” he said, his voice half an octave lower and his tongue wrapping around her name like a lover. It made her shiver. “Thank you. For everything.”

She turned to him at that and offered a small smile. “I’m always here for you,” she promised honestly. Then she turned and headed for the tavern. He didn’t stop her.

 

* * *

 

At the end of it, Lyna had three drinks of whatever horrible brew Bull liked best, Bull was down five sovereigns (two do Dorian, one to Krem, and two to Vivienne, who had surprised everyone by betting at all), Varric was drunkenly apologizing for doubting her, and Leliana was hovering with a smug expression as she collected coin from nearly everyone who had bet against Solas’s return.

And Lyna was drunk.

“That’s the last time I let you pick the drinks, Bull,” she slurred as the Qunari’s massive form wavered in front of her eyes.

“You should have known better to begin with,” Dorian quipped from over his tankard of Fereldan beer. Lyna sighed.

“Probably,” she admitted.

At that exact moment, a woman with black hair and tawny skin and several empty piercings up her ears and in various places across her face swept Lyna up out of her seat to dance to Maryden’s newest song. Laughing, trying to keep up with the other woman’s hectic pace, Lyna grabbed at her and accidentally got a handful of her breast, instead. Her attempt at stuttering out an apology was laughed off as the woman grabbed both her hands and spun her about.

The song ended, and the strange woman deposited a very dizzy Lyna back in her seat as she laughed. “Your lover has returned and you are full of drink! What a wonderful night for you!”

“Not my lover,” Lyna muttered absently, begging the room to stop spinning. The woman jerked back.

“But…” she said, her eyes flicking briefly in Varric’s direction. Once Lyna’s vision cleared a bit, she had to admit that the woman was lovely; large, plump breasts, wide hips, a narrow waist that had clearly known a corset’s shape, and gorgeous dark hair made her a vision even in the simple tunic and trousers she wore. “He’s your Soul Mate, isn’t he?”

“That doesn’t automatically make him my lover,” Lyna said, then snapped her mouth shut. She was talking too much, but the woman just laughed.

“It did for me!” she cried, and twirled away, off into the crowd.

“He should be here with you, though,” Dorian grumbled. And just like that, Lyna’s light mood was ruined. She sighed heavily at the loss. Strange beautiful women dancing with her aside, it was still a pretty sour day. Evening. Night. What time was it, anyway?

“No, he should be resting, just like he probably is,” she told Dorian. “He’s been through a loss and needs time to mourn.” Dorian ducked his head and didn’t say anything. She gave the room a smile. “I’m going to bed before you all get me in trouble.” There were many wishes for her health and lack of a hangover as she got up and made her way to the door of the tavern. Bull smacked her ass as she passed him, only to be smacked in return by both her and Dorian. He just laughed.

Lyna was smiling as she entered Skyhold’s main hall. She glanced at the rotunda as she passed and saw a soft light. Frowning, she went to investigate. She tiptoed into the room and found Solas asleep on his couch with an open book resting in his hands, a single candle burning on the table beside him. His mouth was slightly open, his head leaned on his arm on the arm of the couch, and his face was relaxed in a way it never was when he was awake. Lyna smiled to see it. Carefully, she extracted the book from his hands and marked his place, then put it on the table beside him. She then shook out his blanket, trying to ignore the way the quick snap of the fabric made her vision swim, and tucked it around him. He stirred slightly as she drew the blanket up over his shoulders, then his hand suddenly reached out and snagged her wrist. She gasped and stumbled, surprised, but he didn’t wake. His thumb traced her rapid heartbeat in the vein in her wrist and, oddly, that seemed to settle him. She smiled at him and gently extracted her wrist from his hand. He let her go, curling up a little smaller on his couch. She left him to sleep, thinking some rest was in order for herself, as well. She blew out his candle and went to bed.

 

* * *

 

Lyna woke with a groan, certain there was a knife in her brain. There wasn’t, which was almost unfortunate.

“That’s the last time I let Bull buy the drinks,” she groaned, then pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead.

When she finally dragged her sorry body out of bed, it was past midmorning and she felt like shit, both for drinking so much and for sleeping so late. She might naturally be a night owl, but the Inquisition demanded her presence during more reasonable hours.

Elfroot and a lot of water cured most of the hangover, and a bath took care of the rest. When she finally felt alive again, she went through the reports and letters that had been left on the landing to her room. It was all what she expected to see, but she went through each page anyway. She signed letters that Josephine had drafted to various powers in Thedas and updated her own knowledge of troop and scout movement. She also looked at the sketch Josephine had provided of an outfit for the masquerade they had yet to obtain invitations to and grimaced. There was no way she was wearing that nasty uniform to a grand ball. Not only was it completely obvious in its intention, it was also ugly and erased everything that made her the Dalish Inquisitor. Even the mask seemed specifically designed to cover up her Vallaslin. She’d have to talk to Josephine about that. As she looked at the matching boots, she thought that maybe Leliana would back her up; those shoes were atrocious.

It was just past noon when she finished with the paperwork. With a weary sigh, Lyna decided that some lunch and a break to check on Solas were order. She’d drop the paperwork off with Josephine on her way. With that thought, she gathered everything up and headed downstairs.

“Inquisitor! Good afternoon!” Josephine greeted cheerfully as Lyna entered her office and deposited her stack of papers on the ambassador’s desk.

“Josephine, we’re going to have a serious discussion about your fashion sense later,” Lyna warned the woman.

“It’s supposed to be _practical,_ ” she argued, already picking up the thread of the argument. That told Lyna quite a bit about what she thought of the designs.

“We’ll talk about it later, but there is no way you’ll get me to wear that thing,” Lyna promised with a smile. Josephine’s put-upon sigh followed her out of her office.

When Lyna entered the rotunda it was to see Solas looking up at his half-finished mural. It seemed he’d gotten the plaster mix right and the first layer was completed. He heard her enter and turned around, but his eyes widened a bit when he realized who had come to see him. That was curious; she’d have thought he’d be expecting her.

“Inq-“ he began, but cut off the word at her narrowed eyes. “Lyna,” he said instead. “I was… Do you have a moment?”

“Of course,” she told him. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Alone?” he clarified, and gestured for her to precede him out of the tower. She did, then let him choose the direction. After a moment’s hesitation, he led her in the direction of her rooms. She followed curiously, wondering what he wished to talk about alone.

Up in her room, he stepped out onto her balcony and looked out over the view. It was spectacular, the sun lighting the snowy mountains on fire. She loved the view. He was quiet for a moment before he turned to her, uncertainty in his eyes. She’d never seen that from him before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duuuuuuuuude
> 
> I am so behind in posting this! I have so much more written than posted! Ugh...
> 
> Wish I had internet at work. I do so much writing there and I can't post anything. Uuuugggghhhh...
> 
> I snuck in a cameo. Did you notice??


	9. A Soul Pleasured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

“What were you like before the Anchor?” he asked her, and she looked at the jagged mark on her palm. “Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind? Your morals? Your… spirit?”

“If it had, do you really think I’d have noticed?” she asked with a wry smile.

“No,” he conceded. “That’s an excellent point.”

“Why do you ask?”

“You show a wisdom I have not seen since… since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade,” he told her, his gaze intense. “You are not what I expected.”

She smiled a little wider. “Sorry to disappoint,” she said, unsure where he was heading with this.

“It’s not disappointing, it’s…” he began, then paused. She’d never seen such uncertainty in him, and found it troubling. “Most people are predictable. You have shown subtlety in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours… Have I misjudged them?” Lyna’s smile warmed as she watched him question something he’d thought he’d known to be true on her behalf.

“The Dalish didn’t make me who I am, Solas,” she told him, knowing very well that many of her people would justify his mistrust and dislike, though not all. She loved her people, but they were far from perfect. “The choices are mine.”

“Yes!” he agreed. “You are wise to give yourself such credit. Yet, in their way, the Dalish may still have helped to shape you.” She nodded; of course they had. “Perhaps that is it. I suppose it must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world. But not you.”

That intensity was back in his gaze, and suddenly she felt oddly shy.

“So what does this mean, Solas?” she asked him.

“It means I have not forgotten the kiss, or what we talked about afterwards,” he told her. She smiled and approached him slowly.

“Good,” she said, tilting her face up to his and clasping her hands behind her back in a mimicry of one of his favorite postures. Though the intensity was still there in his gaze, the uncertainty returned. He blinked, and it seemed the spell was broken for him. He took a step back and turned away, but she couldn’t let him go like that.

Lyna grabbed his arm gently, just above his elbow, to ask him to stay. “Don’t go,” she pleaded.

“It would be kinder in the long run,” he said seriously, but she didn’t believe that; they were Soul Mates, after all. “But losing you would…” He turned suddenly and his lips met hers, warm and firm and insistent. His arms surrounded her, pulling her close, and it was all she could do to return his embrace and withstand the desperate passion of his kiss. He all but devoured her, his tongue thrusting insistently into her mouth to dance with her own. One of his hands slipped down her back to cup her backside and pull her even closer, and she gasped into his mouth. She dug her fingers into his scalp, trying to retain some shred of her own sanity, but it was quickly slipping away under the onslaught of his kiss. He could have tipped her over the balcony railing at that moment and she wouldn’t have fought it.

Slowly, he pulled back, and she managed to open her eyes slightly. They were both breathing heavily, and he looked as drunk on their kiss as she felt. She finally managed to swallow as he gently caressed her face.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he told her softly, and she gasped and gripped him tightly.

“Truly?” she whispered, watching the heavy emotion in his eyes shift in ways she couldn’t begin to describe.

“Truly,” he murmured, and claimed her lips again. She whimpered slightly against him, clinging to him and hoping he wouldn’t let her fall. He moved backwards, into the room, and she followed mindlessly, attached to him at the lips and unwilling to give him up.

Suddenly, he swept her into his arms and she squeaked. Just as quickly, he laid her down on her bed and crawled over her. He settled himself above her, one knee between her legs and a hand in her hair to angle her head, and claimed her lips once more. With masterful sweeps of his tongue and the perfect pressure of his silken lips, he had her moaning and gasping into his mouth. She was putty in his hands and he molded her pleasure.

“Touch me,” she begged into his mouth, then cried out when his hand cupped her breast. She arched up into his touch, silently begging for more, and he swept his thumb across her nipple, the sensation electric even through her shirt. She shivered and he moaned. His fingers plucked carefully at her nipple through the fabric of her shirt as she trembled beneath his touch.

“Touch me,” he whispered into her mouth, and she allowed one hand to travel down the length of his back to grip his ass. He hissed as she dug her nails in and urged him to press his hips into hers. The feeling of the hard, hot weight of him pressing against her core caused her to break their kiss to arch up and cry out, and his lips met her neck instead.

“Solas,” she moaned, and he nibbled the skin over her pulse point. She shivered hard, so he did it again. “Solas, please,” she begged, not entirely certain what she was asking for. But instead of giving her what she needed, he stopped moving entirely, seemingly frozen above her. “Solas?” she asked, concerned, and he pulled back, releasing his hold on her breast and putting some distance between their bodies. She felt cold without him.

“I apologize,” he said softly, avoiding her gaze. “This was… I should not have-“ She interrupted him with a kiss, dragging his face down to hers. When she released him, his eyes were wide and startled, and she grinned.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” she told him, and his expression relaxed into a smile.

“Still, I do not believe it would be wise to continue like this,” he admitted.

“I agree,” she told him, and smiled into his startled face; clearly that wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “There is far too much fabric between us,” she lamented, and tugged experimentally on his tunic. As she’d expected, he caught her wrist, but a smile played at his lips though he tried to hide it. She pouted and tugged her hand out of his grip, then cupped him through his breeches before he could stop her. He hissed and his whole body jerked, and her eyes widened at the size of him in her palm. This time when he caught her wrist, he pinned it beside her head. She reached again with her other hand and found it trapped, too. She pouted at him again and shifted her hips up off the bed, teasing him as she rubbed against him. He couldn’t move away from the touch of her hips without releasing her hands, and he knew it as he narrowed his eyes at her.

“You play a dangerous game, vhenan,” he warned her. She grinned and licked her lip, and his eyes followed the motion.

“And yet I’m winning,” she teased as his hips shifted unconsciously against hers. “Ar lath ma, Solas. Isala ma inor em,” she told him, and he gasped sharply. With a strangled groan, he gave in and buried his face in her neck as he ground their hips together. She laughed breathlessly as he licked and sucked her neck, marking her skin with his teeth. He released her hands a moment later and she immediately divested him of his tunic, tossing it to the floor so she could run her hands across his smooth, warm skin and feel the planes of hard muscle beneath. He shivered under her touch as he struggled with the buttons on her shirt, until finally he simply ripped it away, scattering buttons across the bed and floor. She laughed.

“You’ll be replacing that,” she informed him, but he said nothing as he took in the sight of her bare breasts. She squirmed a little under his gaze and his eyes met hers. “The shirt,” she reminded him. “You’ll be replacing it.” He huffed a laugh.

“Ma nuvenin,” he murmured, then lowered his head to claim her nipple with his lips. She cried out and arched up to him, one hand holding him to her breast while the other fisted in the sheets. He drew gentle circles around the hard bud with his tongue, then sucked hard and nipped her with his teeth. The sound she made was strangled and desperate, and she arched her hips up into his. He released her nipple and kissed his way down her belly, licking lightly at her skin. He unlaced her trousers and slid them off her hips and down to her knees before she even realized it.

“Ar davemah mar’edhas,” he told her in a growl, and she whined, writhing in anticipation. Soon her pants met what remained of her shirt on the floor and she was entirely bare before him. He kissed her thighs as his fingers teased their way up towards her core, and she shifted to allow him access. He rewarded her by skimming one finger down her folds. “Irmes,” he groaned, then brought his glistening finger to his lips. He kept his eyes on hers as he sucked his finger clean, and Lyna felt her belly tense with anticipation.

“Satha,” she whispered, then cried out when his finger penetrated her. She heard his slight gasp even as she writhed desperately on his hand.

“So tight,” he murmured, then his tongue flicked out against her clit and she bit her lip hard to keep from yelling. Even so, a harsh groan was ripped from her throat. He moaned in response and she felt the sound shiver through her core.

“Solas,” she breathed, arching her hips and riding his hand. His lips closed around her clit, sucking gently, and she all but shrieked as her sheath tightened around his hand. His tongue flicked across the engorged bud, and she came undone for him, writhing and crying out, one hand fisting in the sheets and desperately seeking some way to ground her and the other scraping her nails across his scalp to hold him to her, to make sure it never ended.

And yet after long moments of searing pleasure as her body caught fire and her sheath milked his finger within her and his tongue laved carefully over her clit, it became too much. Too much sensation, too much pleasure, until it blended into pain and she was forced to push him away. He gave her a last, long lick before he pulled away, and she watched through barely open eyes as he swallowed her honey and licked his lips clean. He wiped his chin on the blankets then crawled up beside her and tucked her into his embrace. She breathed heavily, sated on pleasure, each breath bringing her the scent of his skin and her pleasure as he pressed gentle kisses across her face.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and she opened her eyes to see him smiling gently at her, love in his eyes. She smiled back and shifted until she was on her side facing him then cupped his arousal in her hand. He hissed in a breath between his teeth at her touch, and her lips parted when she felt that his arousal had not flagged in the slightest. She rubbed her palm against it from outside his pants, trying to guess at its size and shape and mostly failing.

He caught her wrist after a moment and she blinked up at him, confused. “Just rest,” he murmured into her ear, his hot breath making her shiver. She shook her head and pushed at his shoulder to make him lie flat.

“Let me return the favor,” she said, leaning over him. He opened his mouth but she nipped the pointed tip of his ear and he was cut off by a gasp. She let her tongue trace the edges of the blade of his ears and find patterns in the whorls within, then breathed gently across his damp skin to make him shiver. She kissed from his ear down his jaw to find his lips again, tasting herself strongly in his kiss as he surrendered to her. She moved from his lips down the column of his neck, nipping and teasing the flesh there as he made soft sighs and moans of pleasure. His chest received the same care, her tongue flicking out to taste a nipple and making him gasp. Her nails scratched lightly down his belly to the ties on his trousers, which she quickly pulled apart. He sprung free with a hiss and she finally saw him. Long and elegant and positively delectable, Lyna wrapped her hand around the base of him and felt him jump against her palm. When she looked up at his face, his eyes were wide and dark with lust as he stared at her. She smiled at him as she slowly lowered her head and gave him a tentative lick. His lips parted and his stomach hollowed as if he had cried out but he made no sound. That was disappointing, and she would be certain he was calling out for her before she let him finish.

Just as Lyna closed her lips around the head, a sudden explosion rocked the castle, all of Skyhold shaking around them, and Lyna bolted to her feet. Still naked, she rushed out onto her balcony in time to see an enormous mass of butterflies mingled with glitter burst out of the side of the mountain, accompanied by shooting rainbows.

“A mass of butterflies just exploded under my castle,” Lyna murmured, just to hear herself say it. Then she burst out laughing. As the butterflies disintegrated, clearly made of magic, Solas walked out onto the balcony behind her. He’d managed to get his pants up so he wasn’t quite as naked as she was, but he was still shirtless, nothing on his chest but that jawbone necklace of his. Lyna looked up at him, still laughing, and said again, “A mass of butterflies just exploded under my castle!” She broke down into giggles again as Solas raised a brow at her, a smile tugging at his lips.

Struggling to get control of herself, Lyna returned to her room and went to her wardrobe. She began struggling into fresh clothes as Solas simply watched. He leaned against the railing over the stairs and crossed his arms over his chest, watching her every movement. Lyna expected to feel self-conscious that he was watching her dress, but instead she found herself slowing her movements, allowing her fingers to brush over her skin for him, teasing them both. When she bent over to pull on her pants she did it with straight legs, giving him a no-doubt tantalizing view of where he’d just had his mouth. When she straightened, still securing the ties on her pants, she looked over her shoulder at him and found he was scrubbing a hand over his mouth, looking thunderstruck and still gazing at her backside. She grinned to herself as she quickly brushed out her hair, tangled from having his hands all over it and from her thrashing as she orgasmed. She blushed at the memory, but tried to shake it off.

“I’d better go make sure Dagna and Harritt are still alive and not permanently covered in rainbows and glitter,” Lyna said to Solas, grinning, as she passed him. He snagged her as she attempted to head down the stairs and crushed her lips with his. She gasped against him as he pressed close, proving without a doubt that she had left him unsatisfied. When he released her lips, he dropped his face onto her shoulder for a moment and kneaded her backside with both hands, sending shivers through her.

“I’ll need a minute before I go back downstairs,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

“Sorry,” she whispered back, kissing his ear. He looked up at her and shook his head.

“No one could have predicted that sort of interruption,” he told her with a wry smile, absolving her of guilt. He kissed her once more, quickly, then set her away. “Go take care of your people then, Inquisitor.” She wanted to reprimand him for using her title, but she sighed. She understood.

As she raced down the stairs, she called over her shoulder, “Don’t forget to replace my shirt!” And then she was gone, still blushing from the knowledge of exactly why he was lingering in her room.

 

* * *

 

The moment the door closed behind Lyna, Solas sank onto the couch that was pushed up against the railing, shaking from unreleased lust. He’d never expected nor intended for the conversation to take that particular turn, but he couldn’t say he was disappointed with the development.

He released his aching cock from his pants with a groan. He was so hard he felt like he might never find relief, his sack so tight and aching for release. As he took himself in hand, he remembered her bent over straight-legged for him. She hadn’t known the kind of fire she played with or she never would have given him that view; the need to rush across the room and slam into her, hilt deep, had been nigh irresistible. Her pink folds, still swollen and glistening from his attentions, had begged for his cock, and he’d wanted nothing more than to oblige.

The taste of her still lingered in his mouth, and he licked his lips for another shock of it as he moved his hand over his cock in smooth strokes. She was sweet and plump and she responded to his touch as if made for him, glowing slick with the slightest provocation. The feeling of her tight little sheath squeezing around his finger as she orgasmed had nearly made him lose his seed right then. And then she’d been so close to taking him in her mouth and working his seed loose with her tongue. He’d felt the wet heat of her lips around the head, her calloused palm wrapped around the base of him, roughened by her bow and a hard life outdoors. Her ass, when he’d taken the opportunity to squeeze it in his hands just before she left, was round and firm and strong, perfect for him to grab onto to hold her against him as he thrust into her body. She was exquisite.

It took only a few practiced strokes and those glorious images of her and her taste still lingering on his tongue for him to be finished. With a brutal yell, Solas came by his own hand, his seed pumping out with an almost alarming force. Then he laid his head back against the couch, his seed striped across his chest as his limbs turned to liquid with relief. He’d just come with an intensity he’d never felt before, and she hadn’t even had to be in the room to cause it.

That woman was going to be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: (take a sodding guess from context clues lol)  
> Isala ma inor em: basically, I need you inside me  
> Ma nuvenin: As you say  
> davemah mar’edhas: I'm going to taste your vagina  
> Irmes: sexually wet  
> Satha: Please
> 
> I like smut. Don't judge me.
> 
> Hey, so the butterflies and rainbows thing is A Thing. It's the enchantment from that stupidly awesome sword from Origins. I'm one of the mods for the tumblr page dragonagecompanionsreact and me and mod Sarah had this crazy late-night Skype conversation about that fucking sword that turned into our very first "#mods are cray" post. I just couldn't resist adding that fuckery to this trash train. http://dragonagecompanionsreact.tumblr.com/post/153767012594/companion-reactions-to-the-butterfly-sword


	10. Butterflies and Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @alifenzevalways on tumblr! Ask as ye shall receive (apparently).

“What happened?” Lyna asked as she descended into the basement forge. The arguing that had been going on stopped immediately and all heads swiveled around to her. Harritt crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at the tiny arcanist as she fiddled with an odd little chisel and sidled closer to Sera. Of course Sera was involved. Of course she was.

“What happened?” Lyna asked again.

“It was an accident!” Dagna cried, as if the words exploded from her. With her usual speed, she began to tell the story. “Okay, so since I traveled and studied at a lot of different Circles I still keep in contact with most of them. And sometimes I had to hire guards to get me from one Circle to another because the roads weren’t safe, especially for a lone female dwarf carrying about a fortune in enchanting tools and supplies. And one time I didn’t have to hire a guard at all because one volunteered! His name was Zevran, and he used to be a member of the Antivan Crows. I wouldn’t have trusted him except that I’d met him before, when the Hero of Ferelden was in Orzammar to help with the political problems there and secure an alliance to defeat the Blight. The two of them were basically glued together at the hip, so when the Hero personally escorted me to Ferelden’s Circle, and I still can’t even believe she would take the time to do that but she was so amazing, I got to know him pretty well. And he remembered me, too! And that was so awesome. So when we happened to run into each other he asked me where I was headed and offered to escort me again for old time’s sake. And obviously I agreed because he’s a master assassin and then I wouldn’t have hire any guards so-“

“Dagna!” Lyna cut in, rubbing at her forehead as her brain tried to keep up with the dwarf’s excessively fast speech and mostly failed. “What does any of this have to do with the explosion of magical butterflies?”

“I was getting to that!” Dagna said defensively. She took a deep breath before continuing. “So I still keep in touch with Zevran sometimes. I mean, he sends me stuff on occasion. Since he’s traveling a lot and the Crows get up to all sorts of weird stuff, sometimes he comes across things that he has no real use for but that he knows I would love, and he sends them to me. He’s a really nice guy like that. Well, recently he came back into possession of something that used to be a sort of inside joke between the Hero of Ferelden and all her companions. It was a sword enchanted to give off sparkles and rainbows and magical butterflies. It’s a purely aesthetic enchantment that serves no practical purpose, unless you use it to distract your enemies, and seriously that would probably work pretty well. But, as I’m sure you’re aware, he loved the Hero and she meant everything to him. So that reminder of her, of how she used to tease him with the sword and its enchantment, was just too painful for him now that she’s gone. But he thought that since the enchantment is unique and interesting that I might like the sword to see what I can do with the enchantment on it, if I can reverse engineer it and apply it to other things. Apparently no one he’s ever known was quite able to and no one knows who made the sword. It’s changed hands too many times to track down the creator. So I figured that since I had the sword and I have these great facilities, I may as well try to do what he suggested. But accidents sometimes happen, and the rune stone I was trying to inscribe with the enchantment sort of… blew up.”

The entire room was silent for long moments with the exception of the waterfall just outside the cave as Lyna stared at the arcanist and everyone else stared at her. “Let me get this straight,” Lyna finally said. “The Crows’ new Guild Master, Zevran Arainai, sent you a sword with a unique enchantment just for shits and giggles. And while trying to replicate the enchantment, you managed to blow it up?”

“Oh, no!” Dagna cried, shaking her head. “The sword is fine. All the equipment is! Only the rune stone exploded.”

Lyna sighed heavily and massaged her forehead again. “Is everyone alright?” she asked. Three heads nodded.

“Sera, what are you doing down here?” Lyna asked. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in this sort of thing.”

Sera snorted. “I wanted a few of the runes,” she said. “For pranks!”

“For pranks? You were going to use a unique enchantment with no practical application except to be ostentatious for pranks?”

“Well, yeah!” Sera said, grinning. “What better ‘practical application’ can you think of for it?” Lyna opened her mouth to argue, but then stopped.

“Fair point,” she conceded. “Finding something has randomly started to sparkle and give off magical butterflies would indeed make one feel pranked.”

“Exactly!” Sera said, chortling.

“For the record, Your Worship,” Harritt said, stepping forward, “I told them to just leave it all alone.”

Lyna shrugged. “Try not to blow anything else up, but what you do in your spare time is not really any of my business,” she said. Harritt scowled while Sera and Dagna lit up brighter than the sun. “Maybe notify someone when you’re experimenting so that we can have people ready to contain the situation.”

“Will do!” Dagna cried, already rushing back to the crazy sword, hand in hand with Sera. “Thanks, Inquisitor!” Lyna sighed and shook her head as she returned to the main hall.

Solas was just closing the door to her tower when she entered, and they shared a smile as he approached her. “I trust everyone is alright?” he asked. Lyna nodded.

“A rune stone apparently was the only thing to explode,” she told him. He shook his head with a small smile.

“Dagna should be more careful with her experiments,” Solas murmured.

“That’s exactly what I told her,” Lyna replied. “I need to speak with Josephine. Will I see you later?” Solas smiled.

“Of course,” he told her. He took her hand and pressed a brief kiss to her knuckles before he turned for the rotunda. Lyna couldn’t help but sigh after him and watch his butt for a few moments as he walked away before she turned toward Josephine’s office.

“You have to wear it,” Josephine said as soon as Lyna walked into her office. She didn’t even look up from whatever she was writing. “Everyone will be wearing it. You have to, as well.”

“I’m not wearing it, Josie,” Lyna insisted, crossing her arms. “It’s ridiculous. I can’t believe you’re okay with it. I suppose the colors are fine for you, but that much crimson will make me look ridiculous. I’m too pale for that.”

“It’s a uniform, Inquisitor,” Josephine said with a long-suffering sigh. “It’s meant to make us look united and strong.”

“We can do that with a more fashionable statement,” Lyna insisted.

“You’re wearing it, Inquisitor,” Josephine replied, tone firm. She wasn’t going to budge, Lyna realized. She narrowed her eyes at her ambassador, then turned on her heel and stalked off. A sudden idea made her light up with hope and she headed for the balcony over the main hall.

“Good afternoon, Vivienne,” Lyna greeted. The enchanter was seated on her little couch reading her mail, but she set it aside and stood when she saw Lyna.

“Good afternoon, darling. Did you take care of whatever set off that magical explosion?” Vivienne asked, smiling.

“Oh, yes,” Lyna said, rolling her eyes. “Dagna is going to notify someone whenever she experiments from now on.”

“Ah, I see,” Vivienne said, sounding amused. “Is there something you need from me, my dear?”

“I was wondering if you’ve seen the sketches of the outfits Josephine wants us to wear to Halamshiral,” Lyna said.

“I have, as it happens. I can’t say I approve. They’re really not your color,” she said delicately. Lyna laughed.

“I agree, but Josephine won’t change her mind. She’s determined. So I was hoping that maybe you’d help me.”

“Help you how, my dear? If she won’t listen to you, our dear ambassador certainly won’t listen to me,” Vivienne demurred.

“She’s being quite stubborn on this one, but I wasn’t asking you to talk to her. I was actually asking you to go behind her back with me to have a dress made,” Lyna told her. Vivienne’s brows rose. “I’ll look ridiculous in that outfit and that’s bad for the Inquisition. You know all the best tailors in Orlais, I’m sure, and you could help me get a proper dress made.”

“And a mask?” Vivienne asked mildly, examining her fingernails. Lyna grinned.

“Of course.” Vivienne smiled, and it was sharp.

“Did you have a design in mind?”

“I have some ideas, yes.”

“Lovely. Let’s work on a sketch, shall we? And I’ll need to take your measurements.”

 

* * *

 

The Western Approach was probably Lyna’s least favorite part of Thedas so far. It was agonizingly hot during the day, to the point that she had no choice but to wear boots because the burning sand would scald even her tough elven feet. Even Solas, who left his toes bare in the snow, was wearing shoes. Both of them were very unhappy about it.

Normally, Lyna preferred the heat to the cold, but this wasn’t heat. It was sheer agony. There was sand in places sand should never be and her hair felt gritty and her armor was soaked in sweat and she could feel the sunburn spreading across her cheeks. The curse of being so pale was that she burned easily. Summer in the Free Marches meant she was constantly lathered with a special cream to block the sun from her skin, but in the Western Approach she could tell she was burning anyway. She glanced sidelong at Solas as their group rested beside an oasis, drinking their fill of water and resting in the shade before moving on.

“How are you going to handle the sunburn?” she asked him. He looked up, startled out of his thoughts, then chuckled.

“There is a spell for it,” he told her. “I am very glad to have come across the cure for bald head sunburn.”

“Would it work on my face?” she asked him, sounding more desperate than she meant to. “Or my ears? I think the tips of them are going to crumble away.” She gently touched the pointed tip of one ear and grimaced. It was definitely burned. Solas chuckled and moved from his patch of shade to hers. She felt the soothing touch of his healing magic like cool water on her skin, taking care of the burns she’d already developed. Tingles followed the healing and remained when Solas finished his spell, and she figured that the protection spell would continue to tingle until it wore off.

“It will last until nightfall,” Solas told her, smiling. “I will need to recast it in the morning.”

“Thank you, Solas!” she cried, leaning against his shoulder. They maintained only minimal contact, both of them too hot for anything else.

“Any time, vhenan,” he replied.

“Why did we have to come here?” Dorian whined, splashing water on his face.

“Wardens were spotted here, and Wardens are part of the puzzle,” Lyna said, though Dorian knew all this already. “This is where Hawke and Stroud said to come, so here we are.”

“Well, it’s bloody awful,” Dorian groused. Iron Bull laughed, Solas sighed, and Lyna smiled. None of them disagreed.

 

* * *

 

The day had been excruciatingly hot and very frustrating. Livius Erimond was everything the rest of Thedas feared in a Tevinter Magister, tricking the Warden mages to kill their warriors and become bound to Corypheus. Lyna had been so furious when Erimond disappeared and Hawke and Stroud followed to see where he went that she had gladly, gratefully, laid siege to Griffin Wing Keep, which was overrun with Venatori, with only her three companions beside her. Ordinarily, she’d call on some Inquisition troops to help secure such a large and valuable fortress, but she was so furious and frustrated that for once she didn’t bother. And she didn’t need to. Her wrath was so fierce, the others just as livid, that the Venatori didn’t stand a chance. So when night fell at last, they were snug in the Keep.

Yet even the walls around them couldn’t keep out the awful cold. Lyna would have thought, after a day of terrible heat and the glare of the sun on the sand, that she would be grateful for the cold. As it turned out, she was wrong. It wasn’t just cold, it was freezing, her breath fogging the air and the sweat on her skin and hair frozen in minutes. The contrast threatened to shock her body, as unused to such conditions as she was. The Free Marches had some of the mildest weather in Thedas, and this was some of the most extreme. Her body wasn’t conditioned for this.

Iron Bull and Dorian were going to stay with the soldiers and drink for a while, but Lyna was exhausted and cranky and decided that sleep would be a good idea. Except that she couldn’t get warm. She had as many blankets and furs as she could have without feeling guilty and she was still shivering, her toes frozen solid. Just as she was about to start tearing her hair out with frustration, she heard a soft footstep outside her tent.

“Vhenan? Are you still awake?” Solas asked softly.

“Yes, sadly,” she replied, trying not to sound too surly. Evidently, she failed because Solas chuckled as he pulled back the tent flap and entered. He took in the image of her bundled in a mountain of blankets up to her chin and laughed.

“My apologies, vhenan,” he said, but he was still chuckling. She scowled at him.

“My pain isn’t funny,” she grumbled, and saw him choke back more laughter.

“Of course not,” he soothed, but it fell flat due to his shaking sides. She huffed at him and rolled onto her side away from him. He sighed affectionately.

“Let me help, vhenan,” he said, and she heard the sounds of him stripping out of his armor. He tugged at her cocoon of blankets until she allowed him to slip in with her. He settled her into the curve of his body, holding her close, and moaned in pleasure at the heat of his body against her back. He chuckled and pressed a kiss against the freezing cold tip of her ear, then sent his magic rushing through her body to warm her. She gasped softly at the unexpected warmth that made her extremities tingle, then groaned as muscles stiff with cold began to relax.

“Ma serannas, vhenan,” she murmured gratefully. He kissed her neck. “This place is awful.”

“On this we agree,” he said. “However, this keep should provide some interesting memories to explore. Would you care to join me?”

“Can you do that?” she asked sleepily. He chuckled. It seemed he found her hilarious when she was cranky and when she was sleepy. She wondered if she should be annoyed, but she was too warm and comfortable to care.

“I guided you when I showed you a memory of Haven, if you recall. It might be difficult for you to remember that you are dreaming, but I can help you to stay lucid,” he informed her.

“Ohhh, you’re talking about our first kiss,” she slurred, exhaustion stealing away her mental faculties. Solas’s fingers urged her to turn her head towards him, and his lips met hers once she was at an angle for him to reach. The kiss was gentle and soft, no tongue, and he pulled back after only a few moments, though she whined at him.

“Our first kiss, yes, but far from our last,” he murmured, his voice shivering through her.

“Maybe this Soul Mate thing isn’t so bad,” she muttered as sleep took her. His chuckle followed her into the Fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one can ever convince me that Zev wouldn't offer to escort Dagna to her destination if he happened to meet up with her again. I will not believe it!
> 
> Lyna responds to the harsh conditions of the Western Approach the same way I would; by being cranky. Also, being pale really does suck. I burn so easily...


End file.
